


Sweet Escape

by raspberrytart



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-23 00:17:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6098605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raspberrytart/pseuds/raspberrytart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam goes to Stanford to escape from hunting, his combative relationship with his father, and most importantly his non-brotherly feelings for his big brother. So it makes sense, then, to completely and totally cut off anything from Dean, ignoring his texts and changing his number, ready to make a fresh start.<br/>When he gets a text from a random number, he's happy to start up a new friendship with someone who seems much too familiar.<br/>Apparently Dean didn't get the memo on abandoning his old life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Escape

_[(310) 448-3829 3:28 PM]_   _Glad you made it safe._  

 This is the first thing Sam sees as he steps off the bus, blaring on the white screen of his phone, time stamped two minutes ago, some random number that he doesn’t recognize.  

It has to be Dean, it is always Dean, but how does he know? 

Sam shakes his head and doesn’t bother to respond, just slips the phone closed and slides it back in his pocket.  

He tells himself that distance is all he needs, space to think and not focus entirely on Dean, and he tries to assuage his guilt that he doesn’t respond to his brother—he’s busy with enrollment, getting situated in his dorm, finding a job. He barely spared himself a moment to think, he justifies to himself as he stares at the white popcorn ceiling on Saturday night as he sprawls out in his bed, wide awake despite the late hour, precisely one week later.  

Besides, Dean didn’t stand up for him.  

He just stood there and let Dad kick him out of the house. Watched Sam leave, never said anything. 

Never asked him to stay. 

It is easy, after that, to let that text slip to the back of his mind. Easy to focus on everything else, to not worry about responding.  If it’s less easy to forget Dean’s eyes shined with tears as Sam stepped onto the bus and drove away from him, well, enough time and he will.  

 

He doesn’t get another text that semester. It could have something to do with the fact that he ditches the burner phone, swears to himself after one too many times for flipping open the phone at every phantom vibration that he would cut off all ties to home. Funny how “home” is always Dean—he barely spares a thought for Dad, never hopes to get a call from him, it is always Dean. He leaves the Verizon store two weeks after the new semester with his fancy little chocolate—the big thing, now, according to all of his friends—feeling comforted by something as stupid, as normal,  as a 2 year contract, something to tie him here. He immediately chucks the burner phone in the pebbled garbage bin overflowing with Panda Express bags and Starbucks cups and tries not to cringe as it feels like a piece, the last piece, of his heart goes along with it.  

 

Classes go quickly; he develops a functional (if not good) relationship with his roommate, and quickly becomes friends with a pre-med student down the hall from him. He finds a job at the bookstore, throws himself into college life headfirst—the studies, the drinking, all of it. He goes out with friends regularly, hangs out on the quad, plays pick up football games and attends study groups. He hates all of it. Well. Not hates. Just longs for something more. Longs for easy companionship, loud heavy metal that (he pretends) he hates and comfortable silences and breaks for pie and fighting over health food and who gets which bed and the smell of his brother's leather jacket and the slow, easy smile over diner tables and the water dripping down his shoulders after he comes out of the shower and the hum of the Impala as they roar down back roads. He misses his brother. These moments of longing, of desperation, make him throw himself harder into all the things he should be enjoying, and forcing to the front of his mind all the miserable memories that he can think of. All the terrible thoughts that he clung to when he left. Watching Dean and Dad drive off without him on all those hunts, listening to Dean and Dad fight all the time, watching Dean hang out in the background as Sam fought with their Dad, never sticking up to him, Dean always giving in with a "yes, sir" and a shake of his head, Dean flirting with waitresses over pie and ignoring Sammy's desire to do something else with his life. Dean, watching him walk out the door and not stopping him. 

He isn’t sure which one bothers him more, and he loses himself in trying to replace all of them with his own, new memories. Memories that aren’t intertwined with shining green eyes, a crooked smile, and the smell of leather and oil.  Loses himself in books and in booze and the random hookups with collegiate blondes, bimbos who cover themselves in intellectual cloth, but are willing to drop to their knees in alleys for the right face. And then he finds something even, sickeningly, more delicious to lose himself in, even as the pit in his stomach during his sober hours grows, but the taste of sweat and masculine musk in his mouth when he’s in a drunken stupor while he’s trying to forget his own name (or his brother’s name, he’s not sure which) is worth it. He tries to taper going out, taking these moments of sanity interspersed with punishing himself for enjoying it too much. Only allows himself a taste of this relief, never more, and forces through hard work weeks to get to it each time, wearing himself thin between work and overzealously studying. He can’t lose his scholarship, can’t be forced back home with his tail between his legs, see the look of disappointment on his brother’s face that he is back, when they told him to get out. That, more than anything else, more than his dreams and ambitions and his longing for normalcy, is what keeps him up all night studying while he anxiously awaits the taste of relief.  

 

In the middle of November, he decides that his worn out sneakers need to be retired after a day of pouring rain has left his socks sopping wet. He digs through the closet to find his hunting boots that he had buried somewhere in the back, figuring they will be good enough for a few weeks until he can scrounge together enough money to buy another pair of shoes.  

He sticks his right foot in, and feels it push against something. Pulls his foot back out, reaches in and finds a crumpled envelope. Flipping it over, his heart twists as he sees it is one from Stanford, probably from when he had first gotten accepted. 

Probably his acceptance letter that he’d thought he had lost in some unknown hotel.  

But how the Hell did it wind up in here? 

There’s something in it, it’s thicker than it should be. He pulls it open, the top had just been tucked into the bottom, and finds a random assortment of money, rough and crumpled. But clearly someone had attempted to straighten them, and there are a few paperclips binding different bills together. 

About six hundred bucks.  

Paper-clipped to the one at the end is a torn piece of paper that says simply, in the typical messy scrawl “take care of yourself, bitch.”  

He lets himself fall into his bed, holding the note for dear life.  

What? 

This is… This is a lot of money.  

This isn’t just money Dean would’ve had in his wallet that night and stuffed in when Sam’s back was turned.  

And that envelope, that acceptance letter. It had disappeared months before Sam had left.  

Had Dean known? He must have known.  

His stomach clenches as he thinks back to Dean’s crushed face as he fought with Dad, stomped out of the house, out of their lives forever. What at that moment had felt like forever. A life sentence of separation, of loneliness. Of living without Dean. 

He thinks about those weeks before, when Dean would disappear for hours at night, come back smelling like smoke but surprisingly not like jack, he was too sober and too somber and Sam could never figure out where he’d been. How he hadn’t been eating as much, skipping diners altogether and avoiding pie, saying they didn’t have the money, they needed to play it safe. Made jokes about his girlish figure and blow past all his favorite greasy spoons that normally made for pit stops on their continuous driving.  

He’d been saving up for weeks, for months to send Sam off with money. Had known that Sam was leaving, and had not only not tried to stop him, but tried to help him, to make it easier on him.  

Damn it. 

He tries to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach, and instead shoves the money into his wallet, the note and envelope into his underwear drawer, and the boots on his feet and all but runs out the door, trying to escape the realizations that note is trying to lay at his feet.  

 

 

_[(310) 448-3829 2:24 AM]_    _Merry Christmas._  

It comes from an unknown number in the early morning or late night, depending on how you wanted to count it. He’s collapsed on the floor next to his bed, his roommate is away for the holidays so he is enjoying a room alone, stretching out watching YouTube tirelessly. The fingers of dawn aren’t even touching the sky yet, and the phone screen lights up the dark corner of his bed where it sits in wait of him. Sam idly reaches for it, not interested when he sees the message, assuming it’s just the first flood from his friends, worrying about him being alone in his dorm over break.  

The number isn’t one saved in his phone, but he can tell from the area code it’s from California. Someone from school, then definitely. Maybe a random hookup he hadn’t bothered saving the number from?  

_[SW 2:25 AM]You too_ is his lame response, just to avoid being rude.  

The phone falls back on the floor next to his flannel covered thigh, and he leans back against the pillow and returns to watching the screen. When the blue light reaches his eyes again, he frowns in surprise.  

What one night stand felt the need to continue a conversation that was clearly not reciprocated? Is this a horrible attempt at a booty call?  

_[(310) 448-3829 2:27 AM]_ _What are you doing up?_  

Sounds like a booty call.  

_[SW 2:2_ _7_ _AM] Just watching some_ _tv_ _._ _What about you?_  

_[(310) 448-3829 2:28 AM] Having a celebratory drink to ring in the holidays, as usual, by myself._  

  _[_ _SW 2:28 AM}_ _W_ _ho_ _is this?_  

Minutes creep by. He tries to cover his interest, returns to the screen, but every few seconds his eyes wander back over. 

_[(310) 448-3829 2:_ _35_ _AM] You don’t know?_  

Damn. Had he offended whoever it is?  

_[SW 2:3_ _6_ _AM]_ _Sorry. New phone._  

Lies. Total lies. 

_[(310) 448-3829 2:3_ _6_ _AM] Liar_  

Damn.  

The phone buzzes again.  

_[(310) 448-3829 2:3_ _8_ _AM_ _]_ _W_ _hat are you doing in the dorms over break anyway_ _?_  

Well, someone who lives on campus then and has seen him around, clearly also spending break locked in the dorms.  

He automatically responds with his normal  bullshit, canned response that he feeds everyone. Dean had taught him, long ago, that you need to be consistent with your lies, make them easy, make them as realistic and honest as possible, and stick to it. Don’t complicate things. 

_[SW 2:39 AM_ _]_ _I don’t have the money to go home. And I need to make some extra_ _cash at work to pay for books for next semester._  

Both are true. He put the money from Dean into savings, to use in case of an emergency. It gives him a sense of relief, to actually have money as an in-case—particularly since he has no idea what to do during the summer, when most of the on-campus student jobs break. Thus, he is picking up more hours, as many as he can fit in, trying to work overtime and save up. He supposes it makes him a loser to admit he’s that poor, but anyway it’s better than trying to explain his relationship with his family to all of his friends.  

Another pause, a vibration and blue light.  

_[(310) 448-3829 2:42 AM_ _] Is that really why, Sam?_  

Damn it.  

And suddenly he finds himself telling this random stranger—they are a stranger, even if they had probably seen his dick once.  

_[SW 2:43 AM]_ _Well._ _Par_ _tially. Both of those are true._  

_[SW 2:43 AM]_ _B_ _ut really I have nowhere to go._  

_[SW 2:44 AM]_ _I haven’t talked_ _to my family since I got here._  

_[SW 2:44 AM]I think my dad hates me._  

And, the only one out of all of them that matters,  

_[SW 2:45_ _AM] A_ _nd my broth_ _er will never speak to me again_ _._  

_[(_ _310) 448-3829 2:46 AM] Why won’t he speak to you?_  

Clearly whoever this random stranger is picks up on the fact that it was the only thing that matters.  

Or maybe he’s just trying to pretend that someone else actually gets him, and it just makes sense to respond to that one because it was the last one. At after two in the morning, his brain can’t really make sense of anything, let alone why he is spilling his guts to some random phone number, or why that random phone number is asking the right questions in response. 

_[SW 2:46 AM] I fucked everything up._  

Clear.  

Concise. 

To the point.  

A perfect representation of his entire life with his big brother.  

Sam had always ruined everything.  

_[(_ _310) 448-3829 2:47 AM] Did you want to talk about it?_  

He falls asleep without responding.  

 

The next morning, four and a half hours after falling asleep on the floor, he wakes up with a pounding headache and a crick in his neck. He looks awkwardly at his phone, almost dead, and shakes his head in confusion. 

Who the Hell?  

He shakes his head again, trying to clear it, and stands up, tries to do his regular routine he has kept up with, sit-ups and pushups and other stupid exercises that now aren’t useful tools to stay in shape for the hunt but marks of vanity, trying to keep his normal muscular physique and act like a normal college guy and he appreciates because it was just normal to the outside world.  

A shower and a change of clothes later, and he sits himself back on the bed, bored. There is no one in the hall today. What loser spent Christmas alone, after all?  

His mind flits back to the person who he’d been texting with this morning.  

Screw it.  

He picks up his phone and before he loses his nerve, dials.  

His heart sinks a little when after three rings it goes to a generic voicemail message with an automated voice, the standard greeting you get when you buy your phone, saying that a voice mailbox has not been set up.  

Apparently he is literally the only loser spending the holiday alone.  

He shakes his head, grabs his keys and stuffs his phone in his hoodie, not wanting to even look at it now. A blush rises unbidden to his cheeks and he forces the key into the lock.  

There is no one at the front desk area of the dorms, and he idly walks up to his mailbox, for lack of something better to do more than assuming he had anything important. Usually it was just junk from the university, about this upcoming mixer or that new club. He drags it all out, flips it over and starts going through it in reverse, wondering how much of it is no longer applicable and can be trashed immeidately. He rifles through the bright, highlighter colored slips—invitations to this thing for Thanksgiving, that first of December event, Hannukah and Kwanza and all sorts of other inclusive celebrations. There's a Christmas card from Brady’s family—random and lacking any personal touch, but nice sentiment. At the bottom of the stack of crap—a surprisingly large stack, that’s how long it has been since he checked his mail—he finds a blank envelope. He slits the seal that had clearly been carefully licked, because not one spot was missed. He pauses, flap open, just staring at the contents.  

A stack of money. All brand new bills, looks like all of them twenties. He carefully pulls them out. Counts them. Counts them again. 400 bucks. What the literal fuck?  It has to be from Dad, or Dean, but it doesn’t feel right. Dad had never given him unnecessary money in his life, and Dean didn’t have a job, he couldn’t spare 400 bucks. 

He can’t help a ping in his heart at the thought of Dean stopping here, stepping into his dorm room, and not seeing him. He hopes it wasn’t Dean, because the knowledge that Dean didn’t want to see him when he was right here hurt more than the thought that Dean didn’t care about him anymore, wouldn’t talk to him at all.  

He slams the door to his dorm, barely realizing that he had even walked back, throws his mail on the bed, and calls Bobby, the one saved number he had from before the great divide in his life. The second great divide, he supposes.  

“What?” The gruff voice demands as he picks up the phone.  

“It’s Sam.”  

“Sam?? Ya idjit.” 

He tries to act like the disappointment in that voice doesn’t sound like a stab through his heart.  

“Merry Christmas, Bobby.” 

A sigh. “You too, kid. What do you need?” 

“Have…” Clears his throat “have you heard from Dean, lately?” 

Snort. “Oh, you decide to be concerned about your brother now, have ya?” Heavy pause, another sigh. “Yeah. Yeah, I did, kid. Heard from him yesterday.”  

“How is he?” 

“About as well as can be expected, I’d guess.” 

Swallow.  

“What does that mean?” 

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.” 

“Where is he?” 

“He was doin’ a job in Nevada.” 

“What are they hunting?” He questions, desperate all of a sudden for information. Needing it, more than he needs oxygen it feels like.  

“He was huntin’ a witch. Your pa is up north somewhere, doin’ God only knows what.” Grumble.  

“They’re hunting separate??” He squeaks. What has happened since he left? 

“Have been for 6 months now about.” 

He sinks down on the floor, knees falling beneath them. Afraid to ask. Afraid to not know. “What happened?” 

“I don’t think I should be talkin’ to you about this, Sam. These are questions for your brother.” Funny, he doesn’t say ‘questions for your family’ or ‘for your dad’. Clearly even Bobby knows that literally everything about Sam revolves around Dean.  

“Has he been by here?” He asks painfully, hopefully.  

Bobby tries to keep his voice empty as he responds, “All I know, kid, is that last night when I talked to him, for the first time in a month, he was drunk in Nevada.” 

Oh. 

Sam can draw his own conclusions from that.  

Big no. 

He's probably living it up in Vegas, he thinks bitterly to himself, not thinking about Sam at all. Too busy with expensive liquor and cheap women. 

“O-okay, Bobby.” He clears his throat. “I guess I’ll let you go, then. Merry Christmas.” 

“You, too, kid.” A slight hesitation, as if he wasn’t sure what to say. “You should talk to Dean, kid. He needs you.” 

If he wasn’t already on the floor, he probably would have fallen over at that statement. A click comes from the other end, and silence, and he sits there, staring at the blank phone in his hand.  

He never works up the courage to call Dean, and days later realizes he had ignored a texted response from the random number. 

 

He’s surprised, almost three weeks later, when the random number texts him again.  

_[(310) 448-_ _3829 8:42 AM] Have a good first day back._  

_[_ _SW_ _8:42 AM]_ _You too_ _,_ he responds, like he had the first time.  

Clearly, it reminds the other person of that first conversation too.  

_[(310) 448-3829 8:42 AM]_ _Someone’s repe_ _titive._  

He doesn’t respond, but later that night when he’s reading in bed, trying to get ahead for Law class, and the text comes in _[(310) 448-_ _3829 9:12 PM] How were classes?_ he raises his brow. Whoever this is wants to talk to him, they’re working pretty hard to draw him into conversation when he keeps blowing them off.  

_[SW_ _9:13 PM] It wasn’t bad._  

Then, feeling bad for only giving lame, dismissive replies, he continues,  

_[SW_ _9:13 PM]_ _I kind of have a dull course load this semester, just trying to get the generic classes out of the way._ _Had calculus and_ _biology and a law class today._  

_[(310) 448-_ _3829 9:14 PM] Y_ _ikes. Ca_ _lculus. Math is not my strong suit. Luckily for_ _you, you’re good at everything._  

Someone who had been in classes with him? He tries to flip through faces, can’t pinpoint who it might fit.  

_[SW 9:14 PM]_ _I really like math. It’s logical._ _Applicable to the real world. Doesn’t change. There’s only one right answer, and it_ _’_ _s always the right answer for_ _the same reason. Thankfully I have calculus this semest_ _er, otherwise I would go crazy._  

_[(310_ _) 448-3829 9:14 PM] I’m_ _not surprised, you seem the sort that wants to f_ _it everything into their boxes._  

Then, as if an afterthought: 

_[(310) 448-3829 9:14 PM] Why would you go crazy?_  

_[SW 9:16 PM]_ _I hate biology._ _Never been able to grasp all the terms and placements._ _My brother was always good at_ _it. He’s good at memorizing things, and knowing how to take things_ _apart and know where things go._  

_[(310_ _) 448-3829 9:17 PM]_ _you’_ _ll get it._ _I_ _’m sure he’s not half as smart as you are._ _You’re at Stanford, after all._  

_[SW 9:18 PM]_ _It’s funny. Most people tend to think he’s stupid. But he’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. Once you show him something, you_ _never have to show him again._  

Sam had always been envious of that skill of Dean’s. It was easy to look at his big brother and think “redneck”, “hick”, to assume he was dumb from the lazy drawl and the rough appearance that attempted to mask his beautiful face. Maybe because of his beautiful face, sometimes, people thought he didn’t have two brain cells to rub together. Dean had always encouraged that. He always thought that about himself, Sam thinks, that he wasn’t good enough. Really though, even with bouncing from school to school, Dean had done moderately well in classes for someone who didn’t give a damn about them. The things he actually gave a damn at…he constantly excelled at. Sam has never, in his 19 years of life, seen Dean fail at one thing he actually wanted.  

_[(310_ _) 448-3829 9:20 PM]_ _Y_ _ou make him sound really great._  

_[SW 9:21 PM]_ _I guess most little brothers have a sort of idol worship for their big brothers._ _He’s just…always been there._  

It’s a painful thought. Dean had always been there for him. He isn’t here now, because Sam rejected him at every turn.  

_[(310_ _) 448-3829 9:22 PM]_ _Yeah? Then why do you think he won’t_ _ever speak to you again?_  

Back to this, apparently. 

Damn it.  

He puts his phone down, not sure how to respond. Or if he wants to respond. 

_[(310_ _) 448-3829 9:25 PM] S_ _orry,_ _if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine_ _. Tell me about something else._  

_[SW 9:26 PM]_ _I work in the bookstore on campus, you know? It_ _’_ _s so weird, it’s the first time I’ve had a job._  

_[(310_ _) 448-3829 9:_ _26_ _PM]_ _Oh yeah? How are you liking it?_  

_[SW 9:27 PM]_ _I hate it some days. Some_ _people are such jackasses. But my coworkers are a lot of fun—we always screw around. This one kid Tommy is always playing pranks on everyone, leaving dirty messages on the white board in the ba_ _ck and moving things around. He has a crush on_ _this_ _girl, Maria, but I_ _’m pretty sure she’s a lesbian._  

_[(310_ _) 448-3829 9:_ _28_ _PM]_ _Lesbian? Count me in._  

He pauses. He should’ve guessed all along, felt somewhere in the back of his mind that it was the case, but is nonetheless taken by surprise. 

_[SW 9:30 PM] You’re a guy?_  

_[(310_ _) 448-3829 9:_ _31_ _PM]_ _Dude, of course. Why, thinking of hi_ _tting on me?_  

Silence, for a moment, as he contemplates a response, and then he feels another buzz with something akin to relief. 

_[(310_ _) 448-3829 9:_ _34_ _PM]_ _Don’t let that stop you, I’m prettier than any girl_ _you’ve ever slept with, anyway._  

_[SW 9:34 PM]_ _I’ve just been trying to figure_ _out who you are for like_ _three weeks now._  

_[(310_ _) 448-3829 9:_ _34_ _PM]_ _How’s that working out?_  

_[SW 9:35 PM]_ _I’ve na_ _rrowed it down by like 52% now?_  

_[(310_ _) 448-3829 9:_ _37_ _PM]_ _Wel_ _l, if you talk to me more o_ _ften, you should figure it out._  

He’s being chastised by someone he doesn’t even know. And actually feels kind of bad for it.  

Damn.  

_[SW 9:_ _38_ _PM]_ _S_ _o what classes are you taking_ _this semester? In any of mine?_  

_[(310_ _) 448-3829 9:_ _38_ _PM]_ _Nice subject change._ _I’m not in school._  

_[SW 9:40 PM]_ _Taki_ _ng a semester off?_  

_[(310_ _) 448-3829 9:_ _40_ _PM] Something like that._  

_[SW 9:41 PM]_ _What are yo_ _u doing for the semester, then?_  

_[(310_ _) 448-3829 9:_ _43_ _PM]_ _A little bit of traveling, but mostly just working. I needed to h_ _elp out with some family stuff._  

Sam sits back in surprise, leaning against his pillows. His law book in his lap has long since been neglected, and he glances idly down on it, marks the page and closes it. He doesn’t understand how this random stranger he doesn’t know has managed to caused him so many emotions, has managed to surprise him so much, and he feels a sense of indignant anger on the stranger’s behalf as he thinks about the last message. 

_[SW 9:47 PM]_ _Your family made you ditch school to help them? Man, that sounds like my family. That blows. You should go back to school, I’m sure they c_ _an figure it out on their own._  

He looks down at his phone, waiting for a response, but it never comes. He tries to ignore the unsettled feeling, like he said something wrong. Later, as he lays in bed in the middle of the night, trying to figure out what was nagging at him, keeping him awake, he feels his phone buzz again. Nearly pouncing on it, trying to get it open, he shakes his head at himself. 

_[(310) 448-3829 12:08 AM]_ _tha_ _t_ _what your family_ _did?_  

_[SW 12:09 PM] Kind of._ _They didn’t want me to go to school. Wanted me to just be stuck there, doing the fam_ _ily business._  

_[SW 12:09 PM]_ _They never wanted me to_ _be mys_ _elf._  

_[SW 12:09 PM] Never wanted me to be happy._  

_[(310) 448-3829 12:10 AM]_ _if you were that unhappy with them, I’_ _m glad you got awa_ _y_  

Sam hesitates at that. 

_[SW 12:11_ _A_ _M] It wasn’t that I was unhappy._  

_[(310) 448-3829 12:11 AM] What do you mean?_  

_[SW 12:1_ _2_ _A_ _M]_ _My Dad and I don’t get along. My Mom died when I was young, and I think_ _he’s always kind of resent_ _ed me for it. I’m not sure why._  

_[(310) 448-3829 12:_ _13_ _AM] Oh, Sammy._  

He pauses. He’s not used to people calling him by his brother’s name for him, and it strikes him instantly as wrong, but he can’t shake the feeling of _right_.  

_[SW 12:1_ _3_ _A_ _M]_ _“Sammy?”_  

_[(310) 448-3829 12:14 AM]_ _You seem like a Sammy. All cute and gangl_ _y, like an awkward baby giraffe_  

_[SW 12:14 AM]_ _Haha._ _What the Hell, dude? A giraffe?_  

_[SW 12:1_ _4 A_ _M]_ _My brothe_ _r always used to call me Sammy._  

_[(310) 448-3829 12:15 AM] S_ _orry, I know you don’t seem to be on the big brother train right now. Didn’t mea_ _n to spark bad memories._  

_[SW 12:1_ _5 A_ _M]_ _N_ _o, its fine. I really miss him._  

He turns and buries his face in his pillow as he realizes how true that actually is. Dean. He wishes his big brother was there, so he could curl up to him, bury his head in a shoulder that smelled like leather and gunpowder and Dean, like he did for what seemed like half his childhood. It was weird, because he was so focused on getting away from Dean, getting those thoughts and desires out of his head for the last few months, that he forgot how much Dean was a part of him, how much he desperately misses all those little things about his big brother.  

_[(310) 448-3829 12:16 AM]_ _I’m so_ _rry. Wanna_ talk to me about it? 

He wipes at his surprisingly damp eyes. Hadn’t noticed he had started crying. Jesus. What in the world is going on with him? 

[SW 12:17 AM] I don’t mean to sound like a chick. This is just the longest I’ve been away from him. I told you my mom died, and my Dad never had much to do with me. Dean raised me. 

[(310) 448-3829 12:18 AM] I’m sorry. You deserve better than that. 

Sam can understand the response, because that was normal. It’s normal to think that your four year old brother shouldn’t be the one raising you. But he feels the fire burn in his chest, that anyone would think his big brother isn’t good enough. Feel the clench in his gut, to think of anyone but Dean being there.  

[SW 12:20 AM] No. I’m not sorry for it. I had the best. More than I deserved. 

[(310) 448-3829 12:21 AM] Oh, Sammy. You deserve everything. 

He types back frantically, now that he has started, now that he finally made this realization, needing to get it off his chest. Somewhere down the line, he had gotten so wrapped up in being in love with his brother, that he forgot about how much he loves him. How much Dean loves him in return.It was a weird feeling. 

_[SW 12:_ _21_ _A_ _M]_ _I had everything. Literally. My brother gave me everything he was. I guess I_ _never really noticed it before._  

_[SW 12:_ _21_ _A_ _M]_ _He always sacrificed everything he could for me. Fought with my dad so I could stay at a_ _school_ _, to get me on the soccer team, just stupid crap like that. Made sure I had enough to eat, even if it was at his own expense, made sure I had new shoes_ _even though he wor_ _e the same pair year after year, made sure I had a laptop like I whined for in high school. Man, I still don’t know where_ _he got the money for that from._  

_[(310) 448-3829 12:22 AM]_ _Sounds like you_ _worked really hard to get here._  

_[SW 12:_ _22 A_ _M]_ _He worked really hard to get me here. I’m such an assh_ _ole, I never noticed it before._  

_[(310) 448-3829 12:23 AM] He must really love you._  

_[SW 12:_ _23_ _A_ _M]_ _He probably hates my guts n_ _ow._  

_[(310) 448-3829 12:24 AM]_ _If he did all those things you said he did, how could he ever_ _hate you?_  

_[SW 12:_ _24 A_ _M]_ _I never tol_ _d him I was coming to Stanford._  

_[(310) 448-3829 12:25 AM] So you just disappeared?_  

_[SW 12:_ _25_ _A_ _M]_ _Kinda. No. Yes._  

_[(310) 448-3829 12:26 AM]_ _??_ _?_  

_[(310) 448-3829 12:26 AM]_ _Dude. You make no sense_ _._  

_[SW 12:_ _26 A_ _M]_ _Sorry. I_ _’m just having like… A major comin_ _g to jesus moment or something._  

_[SW 12:_ _28_ _A_ _M]_ _I didn’t tell them I was going to Stanford. That I was leaving. Until the night I went to get on the bus._ _I packed my bags and said I was going, had a huge fight with my Dad. He kicked me o_ _ut, told me to never come back._  

_[(310) 448-3829 12:34 AM]_ _Ever think maybe he was t_ _rying to make it easier on you?_  

_[SW 12:_ _34 A_ _M]_ _D_ _ude, you sound like my brother._  

_[SW 12:_ _35 A_ _M] I_ _’ve been mad at Dean for months now, thinking he took Dad’s si_ _de over me._  

_[SW 12:_ _38_ _A_ _M]_ _And I think_ _I’ve been angry that he didn_ _’t try to talk me into staying._  

_[(310) 448-3829 12:39 AM]_ _What?? I thought going to sc_ _hool was all you’d ever wanted?_  

_[SW 12:_ _40_ _A_ _M]_ _Yeah. It has been. I mean. I know that I wanted to go. And I wanted him to support me. Because he has always supported me. So when he didn’t stick up for me…_ _It really hurt._ _But then, he just let me leave._  

_[(310) 448-3829 12:43 AM]_ _Maybe he was trying to be a good big brothe_ _r and give you what you wanted._  

_[SW 12:_ _44 A_ _M]_ _I thought he had finally given up on m_ _e._  

_[(310) 448-3829 12:44 AM]_ _Sammy, I don’t think an_ _yone could ever give up on you._  

_[SW 12:_ _45_ _A_ _M]_ _He hid all this money in my stuff. He must have been saving up for months. I don’t know how he knew, but I guess he did_ _. I found it,_ _a few weeks_ _ago._  

_[(310) 448-3829 12:46 AM]_ _He must have supported you d_ _oing this, then._  

_[SW 12:_ _48_ _A_ _M]_ _Even_ _if he did then, he doesn’t now._  

_[(310) 448-3829 12:49 AM] Why’s that?_  

_[SW 12:_ _49 A_ _M]_ _He texted me, and I ignored him. When I got he_ _re. And then changed my number._  

_[(310) 448-3829 12:50 AM] That’s kind of a dick move._  

_[SW 12:_ _50 A_ _M]_ _Yeah. It was. I was mad._  

_[SW 12:_ _5_ _1 PM]_ _He sent me money at Christmas._  

_[(310) 448-3829 12:51 AM] You always get cash from people who hate your guts?_  

_[SW 12:_ _51 A_ _M]_ _There was no card, no note,_ _nothing. Just a stack of bills._  

_[(310) 448-3829 12:51 AM]_ _Maybe he was just trying to take care of you. But if you didn’t respond to him_ _and changed your number so he_ _couldn’t contact you, maybe he is_ _just trying to give you space._  

_[SW 12:_ _52 A_ _M]_ _He dropped it off, it wasn’t mailed. Which means he was here, in my dorm. And I didn’_ _t get to see him._  

_[(310) 448-3829 12:53 AM] Would you have wanted to?_  

_[SW 12:_ _54_ _A_ _M]_ _Desperately. I don’t know… I don’t_ _know how to be me without him._  

_[SW 12:_ _54_ _A_ _M]_ _Does that sound ridiculous?_  

_[SW 12:_ _54_ _A_ _M]_ _L_ _ike I’m some clingy girlfriend?_  

_[SW 12:_ _54 A_ _M]_ _It’s just… He’s ju_ _st always been there, you know?_  

_[(310) 448-3829 12:56 AM] I don’t think it’s ridiculous._ _Maybe you should try telling hi_ _m this, Sammy._  

_[(310) 448-3829 12:57 AM]_ _It sounds lik_ _e it’s really important to you._  

_[SW 12:_ _58 A_ _M]_ _I don’t know if I can fac_ _e it yet. I think I need time._  

_[(310) 448-3829 12:58 AM]_ _I’m sure he’ll understand that. It sounds like he_ _only wants what’s best for you._  

_[SW 12:_ _59_ _A_ _M]_ _You’re so nice to me. If you knew him, you’d think I was a total_ _s_ _hitbag_ _for the way I treat him._  

_[(310) 448-3829 01:02 AM]_ _I_ _would never._  

_[SW_ _0_ _1_ _:03 A_ _M]_ _Man, I don’t know who you are, but I’m really glad you texted me on Christmas_ _._  

_[SW_ _0_ _1_ _:03 A_ _M]_ _I don_ _’t have anyone here to talk to._  

_[(310) 448-3829 01:04 AM]_ _You have tons of f_ _riends, dude._  

_[SW_ _01_ _:_ _04_ _A_ _M]_ _Eh._ _I have lots of people I study with, and hang out on the quad with, and_ _go drinking with._  

_[SW_ _01:05_ _A_ _M]_ _I have_ _tons of people I’ve slept with._  

_[(310) 448-3829 01:06 AM] Oh do you?_  

 He can almost hear the snark in that statement. 

_[SW_ _01:07_ _A_ _M]_ _No_ _t tons maybe._  

Then, biting his tongue, unsure if he actually wants to send it: 

_[SW_ _01:08 AM_ _]_ _Is that how we met?_  

_[(310) 448-3829 01:10 AM]_ _Interesting. I’m a dude, and you’re not sure if you’ve slept with me. But you think you might have. And you still don’_ _t know who I am._  

Shit. 

_[(310) 448-3829 01:10 AM]_ _So you’ve slept with more than one guy._  

_[(310) 448-3829 01:10 AM]_ _Didn’t know_ _you play for both teams, Sammy._  

_[SW_ _01_ _:11_ _A_ _M]_ _Oh_ _. So we haven’t slept together._  

_[SW_ _01_ _:11_ _A_ _M]_ _Awkward._  

_[(310) 448-3829 01:12 AM] Not yet._  

He laughs, surprised, and his digits fly across the keypad.  

_[SW_ _01:12 A_ _M]_ _Ar_ _e y_ _ou hitting on me?_  

_[(310) 448-3829 01:13 AM] Well, it got you to lighten up._  

_[SW_ _01:14 A_ _M]_ _If being serious_ _is what it takes to get that reaction, I_ _’ll have to be downright surly._  

_[(310) 448-3829 01:14 AM]_ _Haha. Like_ _you aren’t already._  

_[SW_ _01:15_ _A_ _M]_ _Whatever, dude._  

He stifles a yawn.  

_[SW_ _01:15_ _A_ _M]_ _S_ _o tell me about yourself._  

_[(310) 448-3829 01:17 AM]_ _How’s this. Why don’t you get some sleep, because_ _you have class in the morning. If you want to tal_ _k to me tomorrow, I’ll be here._  

He sighs. It made sense, but damn it, he wants to sit here and talk to him. For the first time in a long time, he feels a real human connection to someone, feels truly comfortable just kicking back and relaxing with this guy he doesn’t know. He hasn’t felt this…at peace with himself since before his Stanford letter came in, back when it was just he and Dean, relaxing in between hunts, watching crap television and bullshitting over a few beers. Sam has never felt more comfortable than at his brother’s side, and being away from him has put him on edge, given him a feeling that he can’t get comfortable. Part of it is from no longer having the security that he can without any question trust the man beside him to do anything and everything to protect him. And though the fear isn’t here with him at Stanford like it was before, the longing for comfort and protection remains, apparently.   

_[SW_ _01:19 A_ _M]_ _If you insist. Good night._  

_[(310) 448-3829 01:19 AM] Sleep well, Sammy._  

He clutches his phone to his chest and falls asleep.  

 

 Sitting in the Memorial Union the next morning, munching on an apple for breakfast before class starts, he stares hard at his phone.  

He’s just some random dude that he doesn’t remember even meeting, and he had vomited 6 months of angst onto him, and the guy had just sat there and taken it. 

Despite that, he’s still some random stranger.  

He could be standing next to him in line at the MU, and Sam wouldn’t even know. 

He is desperate to talk to this guy.  

It freaks him out how desperate. 

He fires back a text anyway before he can lose his nerve.  

_[SW_ _10:01 AM_ _]_ _So what lame nickname should I put for you in my phone?_  

_[SW 10:01 AM]_ _Since, you know, I still_ _don’t know who I’m talking to._  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:02 AM]_ _You can ca_ _ll me whatever you want, Sammy._  

He laughs. 

_[SW 1_ _0_ _:_ _02_ _A_ _M]_ _I hope th_ _at was said in a bedroom voice._  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:03 AM] We’ll see._  

_[SW_ _10:03_ _A_ _M]_ _So what qu_ _estions will you answer for me?_  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:05 AM]_ _Ask whatever yo_ _u want. We’ll see how I answer._  

_[SW_ _10:05 AM_ _]_ _How long ha_ _s it been since you’ve seen me?_  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:08_ _AM]A few weeks._  

Huh. He tries to scour his memory, but can’t think of anything that might be him. 

_[SW_ _10:0_ _8_ _AM_ _]_ _Did we hang out?_  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:08_ _AM]_ _Nope_ _._  

Weird. 

_[SW 10:11 AM_ _]_ _What do you do_ _?_  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:12_ _AM]_ _Right_ _now, I’m working as a mechanic._  

_[SW 10:11 A_ _M]_ _So you_ _’re good with your hands, then?_  

_[SW 10:12 A_ _M]_ _Shit. I_ _can’t turn it off. Sorry, dude._  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:13_ _AM]_ _Haha. It’s fi_ _ne. Just don’t regret it later._  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:13_ _AM]_ _I get it. You’re j_ _ust messing around._  

_[SW 10:14 A_ _M]_ _Why would I regret it_ _if you’re as pretty as you say?_  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:14_ _AM] Once you find out who I am._  

_[SW 10:16 A_ _M]_ _I’m sure not_ _hing could make me regret that._  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:16_ _AM] We’ll see._  

_[SW 10:17 A_ _M]_ _What happened with your family?_  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:17_ _AM] Long story._  

_[SW 10:17 A_ _M]_ _Dude. I’ve poured my h_ _eart out to you._  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:20_ _AM]_ _Well. My dad and I had a fight._ _He wanted me to do something, I didn’t want to do it. I usually do whatever my family wants, and I was just… Over it._  

_[SW 10:22 A_ _M]_ _Is that why you left school?_  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:22_ _AM]_ _I’m just done living up to other people’s expectations of me._ _Kinda like you_ _, I guess. I want to be myself._  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:22_ _AM]_ _I had always gone ahead with whatever he wanted befo_ _re, with basically no question._  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:22_ _AM]_ _But he f_ _inally pushed me over the edge._  

_[SW 10:23 A_ _M]_ _Dude. Are we seriously bonding over our da_ _ddy issues?_  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:2_ _3 AM]_ _Haha. Apparently so._ _But I don’t_ _really have daddy_ _issues. I have… Loyalty issues._  

_[SW 10:24 A_ _M]_ _Oh? Sounds intriguing._  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:_ _24_ _AM]_ _Not really. I’m just… Used to doi_ _ng what he says. I always have._  

_[SW 10:25 A_ _M]_ _So what_ _happened to set you off?_  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:25_ _AM]_ _I probably never would have done_ _it, but he upset someone else._  

_[SW 10:26 A_ _M]_ _Girlfriend?_  

Then, almost hopefully: 

_[SW 10:26 A_ _M]_ _Boyfriend?_  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:26_ _AM] Haha. You wish._  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:26_ _AM]_ _Someon_ _e I love more than anyone else._  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:27_ _AM]_ _But lets talk about something a little_ _less_ _depressing_ _._  

_[SW 10:27 A_ _M]_ _So_ _your love life is depressing? She dump you_ _?_  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:28_ _AM]_ _no love life._ _He left._  

_[SW 10:28 A_ _M]_ _Oh. I’m sorry, dude._  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:29_ _AM]_ _It’s fin_ _e. Everything works out, right?_  

_[SW 10:30_ _A_ _M]_ _Yeah_  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:_ _3_ _0_ _AM]_ _God. Seriously, lets talk about something less depressing. You got me into this mood you are now fully respon_ _sible for getting me out of it._  

_[SW 1_ _0_ _:_ _3_ _1_ _A_ _M]_ _Haha. I’m sorry, dude._ _What’s…_ _what’s your favorite food?_  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:_ _31_ _AM] You’re reaching, buttercup. Pie._  

_[SW 10:32_ _A_ _M]_ _You remind me of my brother. Why pie?_  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:33_ _AM]_ _It reminds me of my mom. It’s comforting and warm. And dude,_ _what’s more delicious than pie?_  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:_ _33_ _AM] Sorry, I guess?_  

_[SW 1_ _0:34 A_ _M]_ _Don’t be sorry. I do_ _n’t mean to keep bringing it up_  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:_ _35_ _AM]_ _You don’t_ _be sorry. I’m happy talking about_ _it._ _About anything you want._  

_[SW_ _10:37_ _A_ _M]_ _S_ _o what were y_ _ou doing up so late last night?_  

It takes his friend longer here to respond, so he starts to fidget and makes the mistake of glancing at the clock. 

Fuck. 22 minutes late for calculus.  

No point in getting up and going at this point. He settles back into his chair with a sigh. 

_[(310) 448-3829 10:_ _40_ _AM] Reading ghost stories._  

_[SW 1_ _0_ _:_ _40_ _A_ _M]_ _Oh really? Anything good?_  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:_ _41_ _AM]_ _Eh. Just some random stuff online, I guess. I like to find_ _random stuff. Apparently attempting to_ _scare_ _the shit of myself before bed._  

_[SW_ _10_ _:_ _41_ _A_ _M]_ _Oh? You like scary stuff_ _?_  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:_ _42_ _AM]_ _I do. Or maybe I like the idea. It’s hard to fi_ _nd movies that aren’t bullshit._  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:_ _42_ _AM]_ _The hot actresses_ _make up for it though I guess._  

_[SW 1_ _0_ _:_ _44 A_ _M]_ _So you go both ways?_  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:_ _44_ _AM] Not usually._  

_[SW 1_ _0_ _:_ _45_ _A_ _M]_ _So your guy was just a one-off? Am I_ _included in this one-off thing?_  

_[SW 1_ _0_ _:_ _46_ _A_ _M]_ _Sorry, that was pushy._  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:48 AM] It's fine, dude. I'm a big boy, I can take care of myself. If I want you to back off, you will._  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:49 AM] If you really want to know, I guess everyone else is the one-off. All the women—and occasional_ _men—are just a distraction, I guess you could say. I don’t date._  

_{(310) 448-3829 10:_ _51 AM_ _] Sorry, that's more about my sex life than you probably wanted._  

_[SW 10:53 AM} So you've never been in another serious relationship?_  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:55 AM] Nah, it wasn't really like that. I haven't been in any relationships, serious or otherwise. We weren't together or anything. Just...friends. Very very close friends. Grew up together._  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:55 AM] Like brothers._  

_[SW 10:56 AM] Ah. I see. So you aren't interested in him, then?_  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:58 AM] It would never happen. Besides, he's not talking to me right now._  

_{SW 10:58 Am] Why, what happened?_  

_[(310) 448-3829 10:59 AM] Just a huge misunderstanding. And now_ _it's_ _like this insurmountable wall between us. I really miss talking to him._  

_[SW 11:00 AM] I'm sure it will get better. And in the meantime, you can talk to me._  

_[(310) 448-3829 11:02 AM] I hope so. And hopefully if it does get fixed I can still talk to you._  

_[SW 11:03 AM] Sounds like a plan to me. So since you're not in school, what do you do?_  

_[(310) 448-4829 11:05 AM] Well, I was having some health problems, so I've actually been down for the count because of that for a while._  

_[SW 11:06 AM] What happened?_  

_[(310) 448-4829 11:08 AM] Had to have surgery a few months ago._  

_[SW 11:09 AM] Doing better now?_  

_[(310) 448-4829 11:10 AM] Yeah. My dad wasn't up for taking care of me, so one of the men who was kind of like my uncle growing up came and stayed with me, took care of me while I healed for a while._  

_[SW 11:10 AM] Well, that’s nice at least. Now that you're healed up, what are your plans?_  

_[(310) 448-4829 11:11 AM] Well, I told you I'm a mechanic, I just started this gig actually in December. I'm really liking it so far. They've been giving me more and more responsibilities for the new guy, and asked me to attend_ _a conference in May, which is pretty cool._  

_[SW 11:12 AM] Wow, you must be pretty good then. How did you get into it? Did you go to school for that first?_  

_[(310) 448-4829 11:13 AM] Nah. Never been professionally trained, but I know my way around the hood of a car, thanks to my dad and my uncle. I've been working on my dad's chevy since I was old enough to hold a wrench._  

_[SW 11:15 AM] Gear head, huh? My brother's like that. Any favorite project?_  

_[(310) 448-4829 11:15 AM] Started working on a pretty cool one actually back a few months ago. I was in the hospital bored out of my skull and looking through the car ads, bought a nice little truck to restore. 1982 Jeep Wrangler. Nice little thing for_ _offroading_ _. It's been a constant work in progress between physical therapy and work._  

_[_ _SW_ _11:16 AM] That sounds awesome, dude. Wanting to sell it when you're done, or planning on keeping it to play with?_  

_[(310) 448-4829 11:17 AM] It's actually kind of a gift for someone._  

_[SW 11:17 AM] Your guy?_  

_[(310) 448-4829 11:20 AM] That easy to read, am I?_  

_Yeah,_ _its_ _for him. If_ _he will take it. We'll see._  

_[SW 11:21 AM] That’s really cool, dude. You'll have to send me pictures one day._  

_[SW 1_ _1_ _:_ _22_ _A_ _M]_ _I have to get to classes, I’ll text you_ _after work if you’re still up._  

_[SW 1_ _1_ _:_ _22_ _A_ _M]_ _I expect you to send me a_ _good name for you in my phone_ _in the meantime_ _._ _Unless you want to do something crazy like telling me your real name._  

He puts his phone on silent and then slipped it into his backpack right away, knowing that if he sits here any longer, he will be ditching his next class, too. He can’t believe he had already missed one, but won’t bring himself to feel guilty for it. 

He's crushing pretty hard for someone who he doesn’t even remember meeting. 

Had he ever met him?  

He feels like he would definitely remember meeting this guy. Isn’t sure if he had met him if he’d ever let him get away. 

God.  

This was ridiculous.  

And the best part is the only thing worse than having a massive crush on this random stranger is the fact that he had it due to random stranger reminding him of his brother that he's massively in love with. 

He ran away from home to get away from this, to get away from his brother that he’s always felt too much for, watched too closely, wanted too much. Only to get here, and despite not being able to talk to Dean in months, not seeing him in over half a year (which feels like a lifetime, really), he finds himself falling a bit more at a time, despite it all.  

How is he ever supposed to face his big bother again? 

 

The next week passes quickly for him. He only exchanges a few texts with the newly dubbed “Sexy Beast”, mostly random thoughts that cross his mind.  

On Wednesday it's just a quick question about how his friend's day is going, a quick exchange about his physical therapy—apparently Wednesday is his day off to handle medical appointments.  

_[SW_ _12_ _:33 P_ _M] What's the physical therapy for anyway?_  

_[(310) 448-4829 12:33 P_ _M] When I got hurt, my femur got fractured_ _._  

_[SW 12:34 PM] Oh, that's shitty. Car accident?_  

_[(310) 448-4829 12:35_ _PM] Definitely shitty. Felt like I got hit by a train._  

Still, physical therapy leaves him exhausted and grumpy, at his own admission, and not up to talking, so Wednesday passes without much chatting. Thursday his friend is back at work again, and says that his boss is griping at him from his slack on Tuesday so he only hears from him in passing, on breaks, until after work when they manage to get a little bit of chatting in before Sam passes out for the night. He still attempts to guess at who his random stranger is, with no luck. At least, his friend never admits whether or not he's guessed right. He gets the strange sense though that if he was right, his friend would let him know, even though he senses now he'd rather Sam not know yet. Regardless of the name issue, he’s definitely becoming less of a stranger.  

 

[ _SB 10:0_ _9_ _PM]_ _Dude, what are you_ _doin_ _this weekend? Please tell me you’re not gonna be a_ _lame ass and stay in all night._  

_[SW 1_ _0_ _:_ _10_ _PM]_ _Hey! I’m not lame! I_ _just have some studying to do!_  

_[SB 10:_ _10_ _PM]_ _Dude. It’_ _s the weekend. Stop being lame._  

_[SW 1_ _0_ _:11 PM] Eh. I’m not feeling it tonight._  

_[SW 1_ _0_ _:11 PM]_ _I’d rather talk to you._  

_[SB 10:_ _12_ _PM]_ _Thanks, Sammy. I miss you._  

He blinks into his shot of jameson in curiosity.  

_[SW 1_ _0_ _:1_ _2_ _PM]_ _Oh really?_  

_[SB 10:_ _14_ _PM]_ _I mean. I haven’t had anyone to talk to._  

_[SB 10:_ _14_ _PM]_ _I don’t_ _really_ _know anyone here._  

_[SB 10:_ _14_ _PM]_ _S_ _hut the fuck up man, I’m drunk._  

He laughs. 

_[SW 1_ _0_ _:1_ _5_ _PM]_ _My brother always told me dr_ _unk people are the most honest._  

_[SB 10:_ _15_ _PM]_ _Well, your_ _brother is a_ _fuckin_ _genius._  

_[SW 1_ _0_ _:1_ _6_ _PM]_ _I’m drinking too_ _. We’re getting drunk together._  

_[SB 10:_ _17_ _PM]_ _Drive to N_ _evada and I’ll be all about it._  

Something tinges his consciousness at that, but he shrugs it off and takes another pull of the liquor.  

_[SB 10:_ _17_ _PM]_ _Getting trashed on your own in the do_ _rm? Glad your_ _keepin_ _it classy._  

_[SW 1_ _0_ _:1_ _8_ _PM]_ _I’m always classy._  

_[SB 10:_ _18_ _PM]_ _Sure, geek boy._ _How was work tonight?_  

_[SW 10:19 PM] Eh, it was fine. Just tried to get through it mostly, it was pretty dead tonight—not surprising on a Friday night._  

_[SB 10:20 PM] You couldn't pay me to step foot into a bookstore, no matter what day of the week._  

_[SW 10:21 PM] I'm sure you're just like my brother on this one, too....you hide your brains behind your too_ _pretty face._  

_[SB 10:22 PM] You're gonna make a boyfriend jealous of your brother one day, man._  

_[SB 10:22 PM] Depending on whether or not you ever talk to him again, I suppose._  

Shit. He doesn't even know how to respond to that.  

_[SW 10:23 PM] You jealous?_  

_[SB 10:24 PM] I don't think I'm encroaching on territory where I have any reason to be jealous._  

_[SW 10:25 PM] You could be._  

_[SB 10:25 PM] I don't share well. Besides, you're talking to me. Not him._  

_[SW 10:26 PM] I wish I could figure out how to talk to him._  

_[SB 10:27 PM] It's pretty easy, usually....just pick up the phone. A quick "hey, sorry I'm a douche-nozzle" would probably get the job done. A text usually works too._  

_[SB 10:28 PM] Hell, I bet you could do without the apology even. Just say hey. Start_ _talkin_ _about classes or something. He probably wants to talk to you bad enough, hear your voice bad enough, that he doesn't even care anymore._  

_[SB 10:28 PM] He'd probably even take a text. Or an email. Or a fax. Or a postcard. Who cares, as long as he knows you don't hate him anymore?_  

_[SW 10:29 PM] Even if I wanted to, I don't know how to get ahold of him, anymore. I don't exactly have his forwarding address._  

_[SB 10:32 PM] Didn’t you say he texted you? Didn't you save his number?_  

_[SW 10:33 PM] Didn't bother keeping Iit._  

There is a pause, and then a definite change of the conversation. It's weird and Sam doesn’t follow, but he's as sick of the old conversation as apparently his friend is (though nothing will ever make him tire of talking about Dean), so he goes with it.  

_[SB 10:38_ _PM]_ _Y_ _ou ready for classes next week?_  

_[SW 1_ _0_ _:_ _39_ _PM]_ _Of course. I’ve been studying all week that way I could have an easy weekend._  

_[SB 10:41_ _PM] Thought you were staying in tonight to study?_  

Fuck. He'd definitely stuck his foot in his mouth this time. 

_[SW 10:_ _42_ _PM]_ _Ugh. Fine. I'll admit it._ _W_ _anted more time to talk to you._  

_[S_ _B_ _1_ _0_ _:_ _4_ _2_ _PM]_ _Aww, how sweet._  

_[SB 10:_ _4_ _2_ _PM]_ _I’m glad. Talking to_ _you is the best part of my day._  

Sam pauses, surprised by the second bout of touchy-feels tonight.  

_[S_ _B_ _1_ _0_ _:_ _4_ _3_ _PM]_ _Course, the rest of my day I spend getting bitched at by people who don’t know shit about their piece of crap_ _priuses_ _. S_ _o take from that what you will._  

_[SW 1_ _0_ _:_ _4_ _4_ _PM]_ _Don’t deflect like that, man. I’ve be_ _en_ _jonesing_ _to talk to you, too_  

_[SW 1_ _0_ _:_ _45_ _PM]_ _I don’t know what you do_ _to me. It just feels… Right._  

_[SB 10:_ _46_ _PM]_ _Dude. I’m drunk. I am going to end up saying something I don’t need to say_ _, so I think I’m gonna tap out._  

_[SW 1_ _0_ _:_ _47_ _PM]_ _Dude. Way to ruin a moment._  

_[SB 1_ _0_ _:_ _48_ _PM]_ _I’m afraid of the moment we’re gonna have i_ _f I ever say too much. Trust me, let me have an out tonight. You can talk to me in the AM, I p_ _romise. I’m all yours tomorrow._  

_[SW 1_ _0_ _:_ _50_ _PM]_ _I like the sound of that._ _So_ _I gues_ _s I’ll have to take it for now._  

_[SB 10:_ _5_ _1_ _PM] Sleep well buttercup._  

_[SW 1_ _0_ _:_ _5_ _2_ _PM]_ _You too, asshole._  

 

He wakes early the next morning, throws on track pants and tennis shoes and sneaks out of the room, trying to avoid waking up his passed out roommate. A run would be a perfect way to expel some extra energy. He’s constantly so wound up lately, ever since this thing with his new texting buddy. A few miles into it, and he realizes it’s doing absolutely nothing for him. He can still only think of this weird, fucked up love triangle he finds himself in. One sided love triangle? Is that even a thing? He’s going crazy.  

He knew, before he left, that things were getting bad. He was desperate for space from Dean. Desperate for space because more than anything he didn’t want space. He wanted to be on top of Dean, wrapped around him like a scarf, in him. God. Have Dean in him, pressed against him, skin slipping sweatily against too hot skin stretched taut over hard muscle. 

God. A boner while running isn’t really the best of ideas.  

He steps off the sidewalk and into the dirt, puts his hands on his knees, and breathes in calming breaths, not sure if his heart is racing from running or the thoughts of his brother sprawled out beneath him. 

He grabs his phone out as he slowly trots back to campus, firing off a quick text.  

_[SW_ _7:43 AM] Hey, asshole. Rise and shine._  

_[SB_ _7:45 AM] What’s_ _cookin_ _’ good_ _lookin_ _’?_  

He laughs.  

_[SW_ _7:45 AM] Thought I was supposed to be the one hitting on you._  

_[SB_ _7:46 AM] Sammy, it’s early. My brain is soaked with Jack, it can’t be expected to be functioning this early in the morning. Give a guy a break._  

_[SW_ _7:47 AM] Well, you promised me last night you were mine. You never made specifications about what state I would find you in._  

He goes a little disgustingly fuzzy at the idea of his friend being _his_.  

_[SB_ _7:48 AM] Guess that’s true. I’ll just have to deal, since I know outsmarting you has never been an option. What are you up to today? At this God cursed hour of the morning?_  

_[SW_ _7:49 AM] Just got done with a run._  

_[SB_ _7:50 AM] Staying in fighting shape, are you?_  

_[SB_ _7:50 AM] I mean, since your Sasquatch and all, guess you need to do that._  

A confused frown mars his face.  

_[SW_ _7:51 AM] Just_ _keepin_ _’ it tight for you ;)_  

_[SW_ _7:51 AM] What are you up to today?_  

_[SB_ _7:54 AM] I’m being lazy in bed, because someone woke me up before 8am. Bitch. Then_ _I’m gonna go for a drive, work at the shop on the truck maybe a bit._  

His heart clenches at the casually thrown bitch, unnecessarily hurt to hear it from someone that isn’t Dean. It isn’t right, but there is no way to explain this to his friend that won’t make him sound psychotic.  

 

They continue with these random discussions almost daily for a few weeks, trading insults, random thoughts, talking about their days. Sam does a lot of talking, but his friend seems oddly reticent about opening up about his family and really the majority of his life. Sam tries to tell him that it can’t be any worse than his, but that doesn’t seem to help his case. His friend's silence makes him realize how much he does the majority of the talking in his relationships—makes him realize that with Dean, everything has always been about Sam. He finds when he talks to his friend, the questions he asks are things he can't answer about his brother. And all too often, his friend doesn't answer, either.  

They flirt a lot, or more Sam flirts with him and his friend sets limits that Sam quickly learns but sometimes oversteps, and then he is pushed back, usually gently, back within what is considered acceptable. 

Sam gets into a weird pattern, where he kind of wraps his whole life around these random chats. He goes to classes (he has managed not to miss another one since that first time, thank God, because that was an embarrassing feeling, knowing he was too busy texting, like a little thirteen year old girl with a crush), he yawns through work, even picks up the extra hours, he studies religiously, but it’s all interspersed with texts to his friend. He’s like a lifeline at this point, and Sam is starting to fall out with some of his other so called friends because of it, because he doesn’t care so much about hanging out on the quad or picking up drunk girls in bars anymore. In fact, he hasn’t gone out at all since this started, before the semester started back up, hasn’t hooked up in just as long.  

Finally, the first week of March, he’s had enough of Brady’s constant moaning about them never hanging out, about how lame he’s gotten burrowed into his dorm all the time, and he agrees to go out—more like, Brady bitches and throws a temper tantrum until he forfeits. He grabs the fake ID and put it in the front of his wallet, tucks his phone into his pocket almost reverently. He wants to ditch Brady, just wanting to curl up with his laptop, play some music and binge on talking to his…friend? 

He isn’t sure what to dub the relationship in his head, not even sure what to call the guy.  

He lets out a little gasp of relief two hours later when he is practically moping at the bar and his phone vibrates. Brady is somewhere behind him, making out with some skeezy chick in the corner, and he looks cautiously over his shoulder to check his location, feeling weirdly guilty about getting caught. 

_[SB 10:10 PM]_ _Having a good Frida_ _y night? Painting the town red?_  

_[SW_ _10:10 PM]_ _Dude! I wish you were here._ _Brady dragged me out against my will, and now he’s playing tonsil hocke_ _y with some blonde_ _soror-whore_ _._  

_[SB_ _10:11 PM] Someone jealous?_  

_How do you know I’d be any_ _more fun?_  

_[SW_ _10:12 PM] Because you_ _loooove_ _me._  

_[SW_ _10:12 PM]_ _I’d make you play pool with_ _me_ _._  

_[SW_ _10:13 PM]_ _Or maybe I’d push you against the pool table and_ _make you play with other things._  

There’s a pause, long enough that even in his drunken state he begins to question that last message, if he’d pushed it too far.  

_[SB_ _10:15 PM]_ _God help me._  

_[SB_ _10:15 PM]_ _What pussy dr_ _ink are you drunk on now, babe?_  

His heart hammers a bit in his chest. He puts down the jack and coke on the wooden bar top, a little too forcefully, and watched as some of the precious nectar sloshes over the side, puddling next to the thin napkin.  

_[SW_ _10:16 PM]_ _Need to be drunk_ _more often if you call me babe._  

_[SW_ _10:16 PM]_ _Sometimes you say things that make me feel drunk when_ _I haven’t even touched alcohol._  

_[SB_ _10:17 PM] Sammy_  

He wonders, almost an idle thought, what his friend would sound like moaning that. Despite all the whiskey, he finds himself getting half hard trying to imagine it, ignoring the fact that he is using his brother’s voice. Soaking in the way that imagined sound makes him feel. 

_[SW_ _10:17 PM]_ _Sorry._ _I know you want me to back off._  

_[SB_ _10:19 PM]_ _I just don’t want you to regret_ _anything, if you ever find out._  

_Yo_ _u would already hate me enough._  

_[SW_ _10:19 PM] If I ever find out? If?_  

A sense of probably irrational anger fills him. It should be a bad sign, this huge emotional spike from a text for someone he has only talked to for a few months, and has never actually met. But their relationship feels so real, and he has been hanging onto this fantasy of their eventual meeting. 

_[SW_ _10:19 PM]_ _So you’re n_ _ot planning on me ever knowing?_  

_[SB_ _10:22 PM]_ _I just… I never thought it would be like_ _this, I guess._  

Then, almost as an afterthought, as if he didn’t want to say it but knows Sam was waiting for something else: 

_[SB_ _10:25 PM] I’m scared._  

Fuck it. He dials the number. When he gets voicemail, this time with a functioning inbox but painfully nothing more than the programmed voice, he starts cursing, uncaring when the tail end of it was caught on the recording. “We need to talk about this,” he insists roughly. His drunken high has evaporated, and he is left angry. The response comes in about ten minutes later. 

_[SB_ _10:36 PM]_ _I’m too drunk to talk._  

_Maybe not drunk enough_ _._  

_Shit, probably both._  

_[SW_ _10:37 PM]_ _You_ _can only pussy out for so long._  

_[SB_ _10:37 PM]_ _We’ll_ _have to take bets on that, man._ _Is it really_ _pussying_ _out?_  

_[SB_ _10:37 PM]_ _Maybe I’m just afraid you’ll beat me to deat_ _h._ _I’ve seen those arms,_ _Sasquatch_ _._  

_[SB_ _10:38 PM]_ _Or maybe that you’ll never talk to me again._  

_[SB_ _10:39 PM]_ _O_ _r that you’ll take it all back._  

Sam shakes his head, confused. Take what back? 

_[SW_ _10:42 PM]_ _You drinking?_ _You seem more…_ _open than normal._  

_[SB_ _10:43 PM]_ _Shit._ _Loose lips sink ships and all that._  

_[SB_ _10:44 PM]_ _Yeah, I’m at a bar._ _Drowning my sorrows in jack._  

_[SW_ _10:44 PM]_ _Hey, me,_ _too._  

_[SB_ _10:45 PM]_ _Find a_ _girl, you’ll be happier drowning your sorrows that way._  

_Or a guy,_ _I suppose, as the case may be._  

_[SW_ _10:47 PM]_ _Why_ _don’t you take your own advice?_  

_[SB_ _10:47 PM] I_ _’m over random hookups, and I ca_ _n’t have the one person I want._  

_[SW_ _10:48 PM]_ _I’m sorry, dude. Still_ _not doing well after your guy?_ _Has he talked to you at all?_  

_[SB_ _10:49 PM]_ _Nah. Not sure he will. Don’t sweat it man. Sorry, I didn’t mean to be a_ _downer. Qui_ _t texting me and live a little._  

_[SW_ _10:49 PM]_ _I like texting y_ _ou. But if you insist, I guess._  

_[SB_ _10:50 PM]_ _Good. I do._ _But Sammy?_  

_[SW_ _10:50 PM] Yeah?_  

_M_ _[SB_ _10:51 PM]_ _Be safe, don’t drink too much. You don’t know what monsters are out there. And_ _text me when you get home safe._  

A fuzzy feeling explodes in his chest, contentment and warmth. The monsters comment, the insistence to let him know when he gets home, reminds him of Dean, of safety, of home.  

_[SW_ _10:53 PM]_ _Who are you, my dad?_  

_[SW_ _10:53 PM]_ _Or should I say big brother, because that’s exactly who you sound like._  

_[SW_ _10:53 PM]_ _You’re lucky I th_ _ink it’s kinda hot._  

And then, immediately, before he could respond to that way too revealing statement, 

_[SW_ _10:5_ _3_ _PM] okay. I’ll text you soon. Bye._  

 

He crawls into his too short bed hours later, smelling like Victoria Secret Skank and booze. Doesn’t bother shedding his clothes, just plugs his phone in before typing out  

_[SW_ _01:27 AM] home safe as promised_  

Immediately it vibrates, as if the receiver had been sitting, staring at his phone in wait. 

_[SB_ _01:27 AM] good. Hope you had fun._  

_[SW_ _01:27 AM]_ _Were you waiting up for me?_  

_[SW_ _01:27 AM]_ _Would’ve_ _had more fun if you were there._  

_[SB_ _01:28 AM]_ _Just wanted to make sure you were okay._  

_[SB_ _01:28 AM]_ _And yeah, but I’m a fun dude._  

_[SB_ _01:28 AM]_ _And you never would’ve gotten any action if I were there_ _. All the babes would flock me._  

_[SW_ _01:29 AM]_ _How’d_ _you know I was getting action?_  

_[SB_ _01:29 AM]_ _I’d like to think you’re not totally lame._  

_[SB_ _01:30 AM]_ _Don’t kill that for me if its_ _not true._  

_[SB_ _01:30 AM]_ _Let me enjoy my delusions._  

He wonders if his friend feels the same rush of jealousy at the thought that Sam does to women being all over his friend, if he isn’t the slightest bit jealous that Sam followed through with his order, hooked up with some meaningless girl.  

_[SW_ _01:31 AM]_ _Does imagining me fucking other people get you off?_  

_[SB_ _01:31 AM]_ _Does picturing me like your brother get you off?_  

_[SB_ _01:32 AM]_ _Fuck. Sorry dude, I shouldn’t have said that, just baiting you._  

Just as he receives the second text, his heart hammering, he sends:  

_[SW_ _01:32 AM]_ _Maybe._  

_[S_ _W_ _01:32 AM]_ _Good night._  

 

Sam wakes the next morning to sunshine streaming in through the window, his roommate snoring a bed over, and a massive hangover that he definitely doesn’t deserve.  

His phone is still clenched tightly in his hand, and he loosens his grip, some of the feeling returning to his hand and blood flowing back into the white knuckles. 

Oh God. 

What the fuck had he overshared last night? 

He groans loudly as memories flood back and pulls a pillow over his face, hoping to block out the world.  

Nevermind. Definitely deserves the hangover.  

He reaches for his phone, typing out in the message chain, 

_[SW_ _07_ _:32 AM]_ _I was_ _reaaaally_ _drunk last night._  

He lays the phone back down, too afraid to scroll back, reread the trainwreck that had happened.  

Did he take Sam seriously? 

Did he realize how sick Sam is?  

How much he wants his big brother? 

Clearly he did, because he never texts back. 

 

He gets the call about 5 hours later, as he lays miserably on his bed, staring morosely at the leaks on the ceiling and entertaining an inner monologue of how he had ruined everything. As soon as the phone rings he grabs desperately for it, not even bothering to check the caller ID, and breathily answers “hello?” 

“Hey, kid. I got somethin’ I needta talk to you about.” 

Bobby. Damn it. Not who he wanted it to be at all. Not that he knows what that voice sounds like, besides his imaginings of his brother. 

He pauses for a moment, making a quick (too slow) realization.  This is the first time Bobby has called him since he left. Why would he call?  

“What’s wrong, Bobby?” He sits up, frantically. “Is it Dean?” he gasps out, horrified. He’s already reaching for his boots (he had never bothered replacing the tennis shoes), tugging on the strings and barely bothering to tie them before standing up.  

“Yeah, kid. He got into a spot of trouble this morning, I guess. I got the call from the hospital. He listed me as his next of kin.” 

“Oh my God, is he dead?” And then, “Wait, why didn’t he list me as his next of kin?” 

“No, ya idjit, he’s not dead! Just concussed. And probly because you fell off the face of the earth and didn’t bother to talk to him!” 

Sam shakes his head to clear it. “Yeah, makes sense,” he says, in what would’ve been a remorseful tone if he had time to spare for such a thing because Dean, his Dean was in trouble and he had to get there.  

“Where is he?” He stops to lock the door, and then rushes to the stairwell, taking them two at a time down. 

“In the hospital, obviously. In Reno.” What the Hell? He doesn’t remember being in Nevada more than once or twice for a job. What was with all the activity? 

“Nevada, again? Wasn’t he there in December?” Maybe he was hitting up casinos or strip clubs or something? Wasn’t prostitution legal in Nevada? Or was that just in Vegas? 

That thought burns somewhere in him. Hopefully it’s just in Vegas. 

“Is that really what we’re focusing on right now, Sam?” Bobby sounds disgusted, and Sam feels unnecessarily ashamed of himself. 

“Sorry. I’m going now. What’s his number?” 

There is a pause on the other side of the phone. “Dean said you had it.” Then, before Sam can even think to question that, “Never mind, he’s not awake anyway, I don’t know when he will be, so no point in the phone. He’s at Saint Mary’s Regional Medical Center.” 

“Whose name is he there under?”  

“His own.” 

“But what about insurance?” He flicks through possibilities, frantically. He only had about fifteen hundred dollars saved up, nowhere near enough to cover doctor’s bills. He might have to break Dean out without them noticing, once he is awake enough to manage it.    
“He has it.”  

Sam comes to a stop at the door in front of the dorms, looking around for possibilities. 

Obviously he doesn’t have his own car here; it wasn’t necessary, and he didn’t have the money for one even if it had been. He needs to get to Dean, now, and renting would just take precious time and resources he can’t spare, especially when they probably won’t give a rental to a 19 year old anyway.  

He scours the parking lot, looking for a possibility. Brady walks up at that moment, and Sam, thoughts flickering through his mind, stammers out “Bobby I have to let you go, I’ll call back when I’m on the road,” and clicks his phone closed.  

Brady grins widely at him. “Hey, man, did you end up taking that chick home last night? She was hot! Her friend was pretty wild.” He laughs, here, and wiggles his brows.  

Sam shakes his head, distracted and not able to focus on Brady at all. “Sure, man. Hey, I have a favor. Are you doing anything this weekend?” He doesn’t let him answer, just rushes on, “Would you let me borrow your car? My brother is in the hospital, I have to go see him but I don’t have a way to get over there, it’s about three hours away, and I need to get there and check on him.” This all comes out in one breath, and Brady cocks his head, confused, before understanding finally dawns.  

Sam curses, internally. These are seconds, precious seconds, that are keeping him from his brother.  

“Absolutely, man.” He pulls out the keys, and Sam snatches them from his hand and starts jogging towards the new civic Brady’s parents had gifted him when he started school, tosses a belated “thanks, man!” and a wave over his shoulder. “I’ll have it back tomorrow!”  

“No problem! Call me! Hope everything’s okay!” 

The pit in Sam’s stomach informs him that absolutely nothing is okay.  

 

He steps into the hospital three hours later, having broke just about every traffic law to get there that fast. Using a determination he doesn’t feel, he gives the assistant Dean’s name and asks for his room number. She makes doe eyes at him. “Oh, is that angel faced boy your boyfriend? Unfortunately only relatives are able to visit.” 

He grimaces painfully. “No, ma’am. My brother.” 

“Oh. I won’t tell if you don’t, sweetie.” She winks over-exaggeratedly at him, and he bites back a laugh. Shaking his head, he pulls out his ID, the real one this time that he got in California when he first settled in. “No, I’m really his brother. Sam Winchester.” 

“Oh. Oh! I’m so sorry, sweetie. Glad that sweet boy has some family, we didn’t think he had anyone. He’s been in here so many times, all alone.” And isn’t that just a kick to the teeth. 

“What room is he in?” 

“112. You just get back there and settle in for a nice little visit,” she says cheerfully, and he mutters a thank you and quickly makes his escape.  

He rushes the door, pushes the heavy wood open and stops in the doorway. It’s been 7 months since he has seen Dean, and his eyes drink him in, searching over him longingly. Dean’s laying down against white bedding, and he looks washed out, with dark circles under his eyes, and its weird to think his brother can look frail, but he does in this big bed. He feels like a starving man seeing a buffet, and he can’t help but rush closer, lean in and pat his hand. When that first contact is made, he breaks. The tears well in his eyes, and he brushes his hand against his brother’s face, feeling the rough stubble, pushes a lock of hair back and allowing himself the luxury of running his hand through the smooth spikes. 

It is only as he bends down to delicately press his lips to the pale forehead, for once smoothed of the worry that usually mars it, that the door opens. He jerks up.  

“Hello?” The voice says from the doorway, a middle-aged man with graying hair and a pasted look of concern. “I’m Doctor Langdon, I’m overseeing Mr. Winchester during his stay here. Are you…” He pauses, consults his charts, “Bobby Singer?” 

Sam bites back a laugh but shakes his head. “No, but Bobby called me. I’m Dean’s brother. Sam Winchester.” He nervously wipes his sweaty palms down his jeans, allowing the rough material to ground him in reality. “Can you tell me what happened to Dean?” 

The doctor sighs, picks up the chart from the end of the bed. “To be honest, son, we’re not really sure. He was brought in early this morning by the ambulance in pretty bad shape, a knife wound down his arm, where you can see the dressings, and a contusion on his head. He has been unconscious since they brought him, so no one has been able to figure out what happened.” 

Sam interrupts here. The doctor looks like he has more to say, probably questions about what Dean might have been doing, but he has to know this first. “Is that concerning? Is he in a coma?” 

“No, I don’t believe it to be concerning at this point. Judging from his state when he came in, I would say his body just needs the rest.” 

“What state?” 

The doctor puts the chart down, sighs, and takes his glasses off. “His blood alcohol content was .16, and he to be frank with you just seemed simply exhausted. Looked like he hasn’t slept in weeks.” 

Sam sinks down into the chair next to his brother’s side and grabs his hand, smiling to avoid crying. “He’s like that, sometimes. Overworks himself.” 

He notices how gaunt his brother looks just as the doctor calls attention to it. “I’m worried that it might be more than that. Do you know if he has lost weight recently? He appears malnourished.” 

“I’m…” he clears his throat, starts again. “I’m not sure. I haven’t talked to him in a few months. I’ve been away, at school,” he explains, looking down in embarrassment. 

“I’m worried about his mental health. When he awakens, I want to have one of our psychologists examine him. Based on the state he came in at, we’re concerned. I am cautiously optimistic though that he will be waking up this evening, and I’m sure your presence will do him a lot of good. Please feel free to stay as long as you’d like.”  

The doctor heads to the door, and says “I’ll let you know when we have more to go on, Mr Winchester,” before walking out.  

His head sinks down to his chest, and he allows the tears welling in his eyes to fall. “Dean, what did you do to yourself, man?” 

He stares into his brother’s face, rememorizing every pore, not sure how he forgot the perfect arch of the surprisingly plush lips (dick sucking lips, Brady would have called them, he thinks dazedly). The cheeks are more sunken in than he remembers, and he shakes his head at that, but the face is still altogether perfect.  

_I’m prettier than any girl you’ve ever slept with._ He’s not sure where that thought comes from, but he blinks, sits up straighter in his chair. Snippets rush through his head. 

_“What’s his_ _number?” And then the long thoughtful pause, “Dean said you had it.”_  

_“When I talked to him last night, he was drunk in Nevada.”_ _Drive to Nevada and I’ll be all about it. “In Reno.”_  

Reno was just over a 3 hour drive from Palo Alto, when the traffic was nonexistent at least, and Dean had never had problems breaking speed limits, saw it more as a challenge.  

Maybe he's just being overly suspicious. He needs to settle down. Ridiculous. Desperate for his brother's love and attention.  

He grabs his phone anyway.  

He goes back through his phone from his texts from December, the first chain of texts. He went to sleep right before 3 in the morning. He must’ve gotten up around 8 maybe, so that left five hours. Dean easily could’ve made it over in 5 hours.  

Technically, that envelope could’ve been sitting in there for weeks.  

But it couldn’t be a coincidence that he got a random text from someone he didn’t know, told him he was poor, and then less than 5 hours later gets money. 

_You don’t know what monsters are out there._ That was such a Dean thing to say.  

In fact, Dean had said it, a time or two. 

It had even then instantly made him think of his brother, but he had been drunk and focused on other parts of the conversation, hadn’t spared a thought to be suspicious, just turned on. 

Stupid. 

_Staying in fighting shape, are you?_  

_I miss you._  

_Geek boy._  

_Sasquatch._  

_Bitch._  

_Sammy._  

_Sammy._  

_Sammy._  

He’s dizzy, thankful he’s already sitting down because he’s about to fall over. Grabs Dean’s black, worn wallet from the bedside table and sees a Nevada license with an address down the street and pockets the license without a thought, flicks through and sees a debit and credit card in his brother’s actual name, and next to the wallet lays a keyring with more than just the impala key on it, what looks like a truck key ( _work in the shop on the truck a bit_ ) and an actual, honest to God, house key.  

What the fuck is going on? 

There, under his brother’s well-worn leather jacket is what he’s looking for.  

The moment of truth.  

He dials the number.  

Almost cries when the phone vibrates harshly on the fake wooden table, the sound jarring in the quiet room.  

Instead, he just snaps his own phone closed and heads for the door. Doesn’t bother to look back. 

_I don’t want you to regret anything, if you ever find out. You’ll already hate me enough._  

How right he was.  

 

He sits in Brady’s stupid civic, his knees practically touching his chest, and just stares emptily across the parking lot. Something digs into his thigh, and he pulls out Dean’s driver’s license, a blank expression on his face. He turns on the car and drives randomly, searching for the address displayed. 

923 Edgecliff Dr Reno, NV 89523 

He pulls up in front of a small house, white siding with blue trim and a lively green yard. It looked like the American dream, white picket fence and all, and a two car garage that Sam is sure solely houses baby.  

He parks in the driveway, waits for what seems like hours as he attempts to collect himself, rally himself, and steps out of the car. He hops the fence, picks the lock to the back door, and is in the house and over the salt line in short minutes. 

He brings himself to a halt in a living room, nice if not homey, with a black leather couch, a large coffee table that has a laptop and a few library books stacked on top, a fireplace that probably makes the home more lived in when its lit during the winter, and a decent sized television situated above it. 

He prowls on to the kitchen, white tiles over brown cabinets, pulls open the fridge and grabs a beer, surprised to see that interspersed with the Chinese takeout and pizza boxes there is actual, legitimate food. A coffee machine and bagels are the only things situated on the counter, and he moves on, uninterested, idly taking sips from the coors light as he goes. 

The next room is clearly Dean’s, a large bed in the center with rumpled blue sheets and a blue comforter that was pushed off to the end and never remade. Clothes are spread over the dresser, and on the wall is a map, pictures spread of different monsters, scrawling notes pinned up to them in that handwriting he recognizes better than his own. 

He sits on the bed to better take it in (not to enjoy the scent of his brother that he had so sorely missed, the scent that had been strangely lacking, sterilized, in the hospital room) and for the first time sees the frames next to the bed, one of him, a candid shot he didn’t realize had even been taken, probably a month before he left, and the second a picture of the four of them together, back when they were a family still. 

He hurries from the room at that sight, not wanting to acknowledge it.  

The next door he opens startles him. 

It’s his. 

It must be his. 

Dean made him a room.  

It has a large queen bed, a nice, soft comforter that is made perfectly, military style like dad has always taught them. Green was always his favorite color, and this sage color reminds him vaguely of Dean’s eyes, and he wants to wrap himself in it, but he forces himself to remember how furious he is with his brother and instead looks away. Pressed against the other corner of the room is a wooden desk, slightly worn but a warm wood and sturdy frame, and he digs through the drawers, finding pens, pencils, papers. There’s even a printer tucked away, probably just waiting for his laptop to be plugged into it.  The closet has a dresser in it, and hangers on the shelf. The entire room is ready for him. The bedside table holds the same image of their family that Dean’s has. There’s also a house key, bright gold, glinting up at him.  He can’t sit on this bed that Dean made perfectly for him, so instead he throws himself on the floor and sobs.  

It is an hour later that he leaves the house, eyes red and puffy. He leaves Dean’s driver’s license on the coffee table, and tells himself the only reason he takes the key from beside his bed is to lock the door behind him. He doesn’t return to the hospital, just drives straight back to Palo Alto, the car silent in the dark night as he blocks out all thoughts.  He ignores all three calls from Bobby, and deletes the voicemails without listening. 

He falls into bed as soon as he gets back to the dorms, takes a few shots and falls into a drunken, fitful sleep. The next morning he powers through the hangover and goes for a run, losing himself in the motion, running so far that his lungs burn and his knees hurt and he doesn’t recognize the area before he turns back. He doesn’t even bother showering off the sweat, just throws himself into books, getting through his homework for the week and then burying himself in test preparation, rereading old passages, reading ahead even, anything to keep his mind fully occupied. 

 

It is late that night that he finally works up the nerve to call Bobby, not thinking of the time difference. Not that Bobby sleeps, anyway.  

The gruff voice answers him, and he doesn’t even get his normal greeting, he has disappointed him so much. He tries to pretend he’s not hurt.  

“What do you want, Sam?” 

“Is he alive?” 

“No thanks to you.” 

“What the Hell does that mean?” 

He doesn’t think he’s ever cursed at Bobby before, and it feels wrong, embarrassing, like he assumes normal kids feel cursing at their parents.  

“What do you think it means, dammit?”  

He has apparently burst through Bobby’s disinterested shield, and now hears the frustration, the hurt. 

“If you wanted to leave your dad, then no one understands that more than me, Sam. Hell, I would’ve bought you the damn bus ticket. And I’m damn proud of you for getting into Stanford. But why did you have to treat him like that?” 

“Treat who like that? Dad?” He asks dumbly, confused. Obviously he meant Dean, but he was talking about Dad, and Sam’s head is swimming in confusion already, he couldn’t follow this tumultuous conversation.  

“Dean. I couldn’t give two shits about how you treat your Dad. Dean was the one that raised you. And you really stuck it to him, Sam. If you wanted to get out, good for you. But you should’ve tried to be more of an adult about how you did it.” 

He sniffs. He doesn’t remember if Bobby has ever chastised him like this. For doing something stupid on a hunt, yeah, but he’s never treated him like a little, misbehaving kid.  

“I just needed space.” 

“And lucky for you, your brother has always been willing to give you whatever you want. Problem is, he does it regardless of what it costs him.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“That poor kid is miserable, Sammy. He’s done everything for you since you were born. I know you see how he’s been a constant in your life, but you ever thought about how you’ve been a constant in his?” 

_Someone I love more than anyone else._  

“I guess not.” 

“Obviously. Look, you’ve been his world since he was four years old. He’s done everything he could for you, honestly. You leaving like that did a real number on him. Did you talk to him at all, after you got to Stanford? Even try to?” 

“No sir.” Not knowingly, at least. Hadn't wanted to, hadn't tried to. And apparently made that known to Dean.  

God, he was such a fuck up. 

“And that’s how you treat someone who did so much for you?” 

“I just…”  

“Needed space, I know. What are you gonna do, if space is all ya ever get, now? Ever thought about that, what would happen if you never get him back, Sam?” 

He hadn’t. It had never even been a thought. He pushed Dean away, feeling secure in the knowledge that when he is ready, if he ever wants him back (and sometimes it has been a big if, Sam thinking he will never see his family again) Dean'll come running back, as if he was never gone.  

God, he is basically the world’s biggest dick. 

“I don’t know if I can do it, yet, Bobby.” 

“Well, I don’t know if I can guarantee he’ll be there when you’re ready. And as much as I love you like you’re my own, I’m not sure I could do anything besides encourage him to move on. He deserves better than this.” 

“He deserves the best.” 

He clears his throat, and changes the subject before Bobby can continue down that road. “Is he out of the hospital, yet?” 

“No, they wanted to keep him a few more days for observation, apparently. Not sure when he’ll break out.” 

“Keep me posted?” 

“I’m not you god damned errand boy, kid.” 

The phone is slammed down, and then there is just silence, and Sam refuses to allow himself to dissolve in tears again. 

 

It takes him three days to change Dean's name in his phone, and a week and a half to suck up the courage to send the first message. 

_[SW_ _01:_ _07_ _AM]_ _You alive, you dick?_  

_[_ _DW_ _01:_ _07_ _AM]_ _Yes._  

_[SW_ _01:_ _09_ _AM]_ _Good. Keep it that way. Stop being a fucking dumb ass and take care of yourself._  

_[_ _DW_ _01:_ _09_ _AM]_ _Okay._  

_[SW_ _01:_ _12_ _AM]_ _“Okay”? That’s seriously all the fuck I get?_  

_[_ _DW_ _01:_ _13_ _AM]_ _What? What do you want, Sammy, because I have never been able to figure it out._  

He doesn’t respond.  

_[_ _DW_ _01:2_ _2_ _AM]_ _That’s what I thought._  

_[SW_ _01:2_ _3_ _AM]_ _What do you want from me? You’re the one that dragged me into this._  

_[_ _DW_ _01:2_ _3_ _AM]_ _Oh, so sorry. I dragged you into this?_ _How do you figure that?_  

_[SW_ _01:2_ _5_ _AM]_ _You’_ _re the one that texted me._ _You douche._  

_[SW_ _01:2_ _5_ _AM]_ _Too “afraid” to text me when you woke up?_  

_[_ _DW_ _01:27 AM]_ _Oh God, you are so right. How dare I fucking text my baby brother Merry Christmas. God knows I’ll never do that again._ _Not like you wanted to talk to me anyway._  

_[_ _DW_ _01:27 AM]_ _I wanted to give you your space that you so constantly crave._  

_[SW_ _01:2_ _8_ _AM]_ _You could’ve at leas_ _t fucking told me. Told me who I was talking to._  

_[_ _DW_ _01:2_ _9_ _AM]_ _Oh yeah, that would’ve gone well._  

_[SW_ _01:_ _30_ _AM]_ _Why didn’t you?_  

_[SB_ _01:_ _31_ _AM]_ _Because I actually wanted to talk to you! I knew, as soon as you realized who it was, you’d blow me off._  

He doesn’t respond to that one, not even when the next text comes in an hour later: 

_[SB_ _0_ _2_ _:27 AM]_ _Typical._  

 

They are at complete radio silence now. Spring break passes, Sam gets dragged down to Mexico with his friends. He’s started going out again, getting drunk on weekends, finding random hookups and avoiding anyone who slightly resembles Dean like the plague. As hard as he hits the bars, he also hits the books, staying up long nights after work to study, acing his classes, and he feels like at least he is doing something right.  

He tries to pretend that he doesn’t think of his brother, long for those lengthy conversations, curled up in bed talking back and forth, the flirty jokes, the easy camaraderie they’ve always had—even when he doesn’t realize who he’s talking to, apparently. 

Part of him is so hurt that he managed to fall for Dean all over again, without even noticing who he was. 

May comes without thought to his birthday, he’s so focused on getting ready for finals and figuring out where to live for the summer. He doesn’t have the money for summer classes, his scholarship doesn’t cover them so he can’t live in the dorm. So basically in two weeks he’s homeless. 

That night when he gets back to his dorm right after work, foregoing going out to the bar as usual because he got off work late and needs to finish revising a paper for Monday. He's surprised when he checks his mail for the first time that week to find on top of the stack of regular ads an envelope. It looks all too similar to the one he received at Christmas, and he stares at it hard for several moments.  

He pulls it out, finds a plain sheet of paper, “Happy Birthday, Sammy” scrawled out, an insurance card, and a key. The truck key he saw on Dean’s keyring. 

What? 

He had completely forgotten those earlier texts about the stupid truck, too focused on everything else.  

He almost runs out into the parking lot, not bothering to shut his mailbox, and without thought accidentally dropping all of the junk mail to the floor. He scans the parking lot, finds a cherry red 82 (according to the insurance card and those early texts) Jeep Wrangler in the parking lot, restored to almost perfect condition.  

It’s then that he sees the figure walking on the sidewalk about five feet away from the  jeep, hunched over in a bulky jacket despite the May weather. Headed for the black Impala that’s parked next to the Jeep. 

He lets out a breath. 

Watches him proceed, pat the hood of the Jeep fondly, and unlock the door of the Impala. It is only when he starts to slide in that Sam finds his voice again. “Dean!” 

His brother turns slowly towards him, his posture unchanging. Sam realizes then that Dean knew he was there the whole time, just as usual didn’t push him into anything. “Happy Birthday, Sammy,” he says back, voice carrying over the parking lot. He realizes that these are the first words he’s heard his brother say in almost a year, and he stares dumbly, muscles frozen in place, words, any words, he doesn’t even know which ones,  stuck in his throat. 

His brother clears his throat, gruffly. “Take care of yourself.” Then the door is closed, and suddenly he sees the red tail lights of the Impala driving away.  

He can only think of how he fucked up again.  

 

He is drunk, three and a half hours later. The Jeep has already been inspected, and he finds it perfectly done as any of Dean’s other projects, with the worship that he only normally gives the Impala, Sam can tell. His paper is long forgotten, and he waits anxiously, downing way too many shots of jameson.  

Finally, enough time has passed. 

_[SW_ _01:_ _42_ _AM]_ _What the fuck._  

_[DW_ _01:_ _43_ _AM]_ _Happy birthday._  

_[SW_ _01:_ _43_ _AM]_ _No. What the actual fuck?_  

_[DW_ _01:_ _44_ _AM]_ _Did you time this?_  

_[SW_ _01:_ _44_ _AM]_ _Yes._  

_[SW_ _01:_ _44_ _AM]_ _Answer the question._  

_[DW_ _01:_ _46_ _AM]_ _Well, you timed it perfectly then. I literally just pulled into the garage._  

_I don’t know what question you want answered._  

_[_ _SW_ _01:_ _47_ _AM]_ _I don’t get you._  

_[DW_ _01:_ _49_ _AM]_ _Trust me, it’s mutual._  

_[SW_ _01:_ _49_ _AM]_ _What is the deal with the jeep?_  

_[DW_ _01:_ _50_ _AM]_ _I told you. Birthday present. Ever heard of one of those?_  

_[DW_ _01:_ _50_ _AM]_ _Just because you don’t believe in celebrating birthdays and christmases doesn’t mean other people don’t._  

Fuck. He hadn’t said a word to his brother on Christmas, despite him sending him several hundred bucks as a present. Didn’t attempt to reach out to him on his birthday, either. Didn’t even think about his birthday when it rolled around.  

He’s a horrible human being. 

_[SW 01:52 AM]_ _Why are you trying to bribe me with a car?_  

_[DW_ _01:_ _53_ _AM]_ _I’m not trying to fucking bribe you._  

_[DW_ _01:_ _53_ _AM]_ _I’ve been working on it for a while._  

_[DW_ _01:_ _54_ _AM]_ _Remember when I told you_ _about it before? I've been working on it for a while now for you._  

He pauses awkwardly. The first mention of that few weeks, its uncomfortable and he’s not sure how to respond. If he wants to. 

_[DW_ _01:_ _55_ _AM]_ _It’s been an ongoing project, between work and hunting._  

_[SW_ _01:_ _56_ _AM]_ _When did you buy it?_  

_[SW_ _01:_ _59_ _AM]_ _Dean?_  

_[DW_ _0_ _2_ _:_ _02_ _AM]_ _August._  

_[SW_ _0_ _2_ _:_ _02_ _AM]_ _Why?_  

_[DW_ _0_ _2_ _:_ _03_ _AM]_ _Why not? Dad gave me a car, I always figured it was my job to give you one._  

_[SW_ _0_ _2_ _:_ _04_ _AM]_ _I wasn’t there._  

_[DW_ _0_ _2_ _:_ _04_ _AM]_ _Just because you’re not here, doesn’t mean I’m not._  

_[SW_ _0_ _2_ _:_ _05_ _AM]_ _Thanks._  

_[DW_ _0_ _2_ _:_ _06_ _AM]_ _Don’t break her or I’ll break you._  

_[DW_ _0_ _2_ _:_ _06_ _AM]_ _She’s not baby, but after_ _9_ _months of hard labor, she’s close._  

_[SW_ _0_ _2_ _:_ _0_ _7 AM]_ _I love her._  

You, he thinks.  

_[DW_ _0_ _2_ _:_ _07_ _AM]_ _I love you._  

_[DW_ _0_ _2_ _:_ _0_ _7 AM]_ _Happy birthday, Sam._  

_[DW_ _0_ _2_ _:_ _07_ _AM]_ _Have a good night._  

His heart stutters. He’s pretty sure it stops. He feels like he’s on top of the world, like he’s flying, but also like he’s about to vomit. And none of these feelings are supplied by the alcohol.  

He calls Dean.  

It rings like four times before going to voicemail, of course. But finally it displays his brother’s fantastic, glorious voice, and he nearly cries that it’s not the real thing.  

Is Dean so scared of his reaction that he would rather ignore him than face what Sam might say?  Which reaction is he afraid of? That he wouldn’t reciprocate? Or that he would? 

He’s being ridiculous. Dean didn’t mean it like that. He meant it as in, baby brother, who he raised. Changed diapers for. That thought kind of distracts him in its disgustingness. He tries to lodge it out of his head. Picks up his phone, and after dropping it two times, finally manages to dial.  It rings a few times. He hangs up and calls again. No answer. He tries again.  

On the fourth attempt, he doesn’t hear the voicemail. Instead, there is dead silence on the other end.  

A sleepy grumble. “What?” 

“We need to talk.” 

“It’s been like 3 months, dude. It can’t wait for another 8 hours?” 

“No.” 

“Dude. You’re drunk. Is this really a good time for this?” 

“You’re the one who has a problem talking when you’re drunk.” 

“Fine then. What do you want to talk about?” 

“I…I don’t know.” 

“Great, Einstein.” 

“Did you mean it?” 

“Mean what, Sammy?” 

“You know.” 

A sigh. “Course I did. Think I built you a car for nothin?” Sam could hear through the lilting drawl of Dean’s voice, the exhaustion that lingers, the way he was trying to mask it.  

“I’m sorry.” 

“For wakin me up, or for draggin me through this conversation?” 

“Deee,” he whines, like he did when he was little.  

“What, baby boy?” Dean sounds fuzzy and warm and right, and Sam longs to be there, wrapped in his smell. 

He gasps a little about the endearment. “You haven’t called me that in years.” 

“Well, if you weren’t such a baby, maybe I wouldn’t be calling you that now.” 

“I’m sorry for everything.” 

“You know I can never stay mad at you.” 

“’Maybe you should.” 

“Sam. Can we just not fight please? I am laying in my bed, exhausted and on the verge of passing out. I spent about 9 hours driving today, I am not really in the mood for fighting with you. If this is about the truck, sell it if you don’t want it. Buy a goddamned Prius or something. Whatever.” 

“I’m sorry. I love the jeep. Thank you. For doing it for me. Even though I was a dick.” 

“You’re always a dick. But you’re also always my little brother.” 

“Yeah. Why didn’t you try to talk to me? When you dropped her off?” 

“Didn’t wanna bother you. It’s your birthday, you should be out havin fun. Not talkin to me. That reminds me. You should be out drinkin. Screwin around. Not talkin to me.” 

“I’d rather be with you. Talking to you.” Screwing around with you, he thinks but doesn’t say. They both hear it regardless, and it sits heavy between them, like all the other too hot, too awkward conversations from the last few months. 

“We haven’t talked in a year. It could wait another day.” 

“No. I didn’t think I could go another minute without talking to you, once I saw you.” 

“...Sammy.” It’s a breathy sound. “God, I miss you.” 

“Dean,” he practically croons, and the tears start pouring down his face. “Why didn’t you stay, damn it?” 

“Why didn’t you ask me to?” 

He hangs up.  

_[_ _DW_ _0_ _2_ _:2_ _2_ _A_ _M]_ _You should know by now that I would do anything you asked me to._  

_[_ _DW_ _0_ _2_ _:2_ _5_ _A_ _M]_ _Happy birthday baby boy._  

_[_ _DW_ _0_ _2_ _:2_ _5_ _A_ _M]_ _Get some sleep._   

He curls himself into a ball and sobs. 

He doesn’t message Dean for days.  

He gets one text, asking if he was okay the next morning. 

When he doesn’t respond, Dean clearly takes it as a sign to back off. 

 

On Tuesday, a week before finals starts, he is slogging through stacks of text books when his phone vibrates. Any time it makes noise now, he jumps on it, but it is never Dean.  

He ignores it now, not wanting to live with the disappointment. It is only hours later as he leaves the library that he glances at it, and nearly drops the phone. 

_[DW_ _0_ _6_ _:_ _12_ _PM_ _]_ _House is yours for the summer._  

_[DW_ _0_ _6_ _:_ _12_ _P_ _M]_ _I know you have your key._  

He calls, gets sent to voicemail. 

_[DW_ _0_ _9_ _:_ _42_ _P_ _M]_ _What?_  

_[DW_ _0_ _9_ _:_ _42_ _P_ _M]_ _I’m out._  

_[SW_ _0_ _9_ _:_ _4_ _2_ _P_ _M]_ _Didn’t mean to interrupt your date. Sorry._  

He sulks. 

His phone rings, and he tries to act casual, letting it go for a moment before snatching it up to his ear. 

“Hello?” His voice cracks in the middle, breaking up the syllables, like it did when he was young. 

“I’m not on a fucking date. I’m on a hunt.” 

“Oh.” He feels a rush of heady, stupid relief at his neediness that his brother is more than well aware of. Then realizes. “You shouldn’t be hunting alone!” 

“Sam. I am 24 years old. If I want to go on a hunt on my day off, I will. Now I really, really can’t talk on the phone right now. Text me if you want, or call me in the morning.” 

The phone call is ended before he can blink. 

_[SW_ _0_ _9_ _:_ _4_ _7_ _P_ _M]_ _Why won’t you be there?_  

_[DW_ _0_ _9_ _:_ _52_ _P_ _M]_ _I have somet_ _hing to do for a few days, then I’m gonna be gone for a few weeks._  

_[DW_ _0_ _9_ _:_ _52_ _P_ _M]_ _Got the house so you’d have somewhere to go on breaks._  

_[SW_ _0_ _9_ _:_ _53_ _P_ _M]_ _Oh. You sure you don’t mind me crashing?_  

_[DW_ _0_ _9_ _:_ _54_ _P_ _M]_ _I told you. Its yours too. You have a room and everything._  

_[DW_ _0_ _9_ _:_ _55_ _P_ _M]_ _I know its not perfect, but you can change it however you want._  

He doesn't respond for several hours, just waits to think about what he wants to say back, when he's so pissed off at his brother's avoidance that he can't even think straight.  

If he's so upset about what happened, the last few months, why didn't he ever tell him who he was? Why invite him at all, if he is just going to avoid him? 

_[SW_ _01:27 AM]_ _I'll think about it._  

 

He feels a sense of relief, when finals are done with. He’s made it through his first year, feels like he did well enough that he doesn’t have to worry about losing his scholarship. The anticipation and worry is back though. He knows that he will go back to Nevada for break, for lack of anything else to do if nothing else. And because he wants nothing more desperately than to see Dean, but Dean doesn’t want to see him, because he’s planning apparently on being anywhere else, and he isn’t sure how to act around Dean  anyway. Not when he still wants that drunken fantasy of pushing Dean against a pool table and bruising his lips, mauling his neck, fighting for dominance. Or better yet, sprawled out under him on those blue sheets, moaning his name as he stares up into his beautiful face. Wants it more now than he ever did before.  

He calls it a night early, walks the few blocks back to the dorm, and falls into bed. His roommate has already packed up all his stuff, his parents are coming for him tomorrow so for the night he’s staying with his girlfriend, and Sam takes a moment to be thankful. 

_[_ _SW_ _12_ _:_ _12_ _AM]_ _Hi._  

_[SW_ _1_ _2_ _:_ _12_ _AM]_ _Wow. That was lamer than I anticipated._  

_[DW_ _1_ _2_ _:_ _13_ _AM]_ _Drunk?_  

_[SW_ _12_ _:_ _13_ _AM]_ _Buzzed._  

_[DW_ _12_ _:_ _14_ _AM]_ _Have fun?_  

_[SW_ _1_ _2_ _:_ _15_ _AM]_ _Eh._  

He thinks back to last time he went out to a bar, before he knew it was Dean, and flushes. Wants to utter the same thoughts, but doesn’t know how to communicate them now that the mask of anonymity  has lifted, now that he has no excuses for saying something like that to his brother.  

Clearly Dean is feeling uncomfortable by what isn't being said in the conversation too, because it takes him several long minutes to respond and he completely flips the topic, as if he's afraid of where it will go.  

_[DW_ _12_ _:_ _18_ _AM]_ _How were finals?_  

_[SW_ _12_ _:_ _18_ _AM]_ _They were good._  

_[SW_ _12_ _:_ _18_ _AM]_ _What are you up to tonight?_  

_[DW_ _1_ _2_ _:2_ _0_ _AM]_ _Took baby for a drive. Just out staring at the stars now._  

_[SW_ _12_ _:2_ _1_ _AM]_ _How drunk are you?_  

_[DW_ _12_ _:2_ _1_ _AM]_ _Drunk enough that we probably shouldn’t be talking._  

_[SW_ _1_ _2_ _:2_ _2_ _AM]_ _Why’s that?_  

_[DW_ _1_ _2_ _:2_ _4_ _AM]_ _You already hate me enough, Sammy. I don’t need to make It worse._  

_[SW_ _1_ _2_ _:2_ _4_ _AM]_ _I don’t hate you. I couldn’t. Ever._  

_[DW_ _12_ _:2_ _8_ _AM]_ _Could’ve fooled me._  

_[SW_ _12_ _:2_ _8_ _AM]_ _I was a dick._  

_[DW_ _1_ _2_ _:2_ _9_ _AM]_ _Tell me something I don’t know._  

_[SW_ _1_ _2_ _:2_ _9_ _AM]_ _I love you._  

There is a break in the texting, a pause, as if Dean doesn’t know what to say back. 

_[DW_ _1_ _2_ _:_ _35_ _AM]_ _I knew that. It’s nice to be reminded every once in a while though._  

_[SW_ _1_ _2_ _:_ _36_ _AM]_ _No. I don’t tell you enough. I never really apologized, for before. Never told you how grateful I am._  

_[DW_ _1_ _2_ _:_ _3_ _7 AM]_ _We already had this conversation._  

_[SW_ _1_ _2_ _:_ _3_ _7 AM]_ _Not when I knew who I was talking to._  

_[SW_ _1_ _2_ _:_ _3_ _7 AM]_ _It doesn’t count._  

_[DW_ _12_ _:_ _3_ _8_ _AM]_ _Trust me, it counted for a lot._  

He gets a warm, fuzzy feeling at that, and blinks lazily.  

_[SW_ _1_ _2_ _:_ _39_ _AM]_ _Oh yeah?_  

_[DW_ _1_ _2_ _:_ _40_ _AM]_ _It was just. It was nice._  

_[DW_ _1_ _2_ _:_ _40_ _AM]_ _Made me feel like even more of an asshole, for not telling you who I was._  

_[DW_ _1_ _2_ _:_ _40_ _AM]_ _But I couldn’t stop._  

_[SW_ _12_ _:_ _42_ _AM]_ _Not even when I started hitting on you?_  

Nausea hits him, the longer he waits for the texted response to that. He can’t believe he had the courage to bring that up, they had so carefully avoided any discussion to it previously. 

_[DW_ _12_ _:_ _45_ _AM]_ _Especially not then._  

_[SW_ _12_ _:_ _46_ _AM]_ _Too afraid of me hating you?_  

He waits even longer this time, almost falls asleep with a pit in his stomach the size of a baseball, knowing what the silence means. 

_[DW_ _01:_ _01_ _AM]_ _I never wanted it to stop._  

And that was the exact opposite from the anticipated response. He jerks up in bed, and his stomach twists in a different sort of knot as the next text comes through. 

_[DW_ _01:_ _02_ _AM]_ _Fuck. I’m too drunk for this, baby boy._  

_[SW_ _01:_ _03_ _AM]_ _I love it. When you call me that._  

_[SW_ _01:_ _03_ _AM]_ _Afraid you’ll say something you don’t mean?_  

_[DW_ _01:_ _03_ _AM]_ _Afraid I’ll say something I do mean._  

_[DW_ _01:_ _03_ _AM]_ _Yeah? Guess I’ll have to keep_ _doin_ _it then. Gotta keep my Sammy happy._  

_[SW_ _01:_ _04_ _AM]_ _Everything about you makes me happy._  

_[DW_ _01:_ _05_ _AM]_ _God. You’re lucky I’m drunk._  

_[SW_ _01:_ _05_ _AM]_ _Why?_  

_[DW_ _01:_ _06_ _AM]_ _Because I’d be driving over there now._  

_[DW_ _01:_ _06_ _AM]_ _I can’t believe I managed 9 months without you._  

And then, his heart beating so hard in his chest he feels like it's going to burst out (and that sounds like an interesting case for his brother to investigate, but not the sort of circumstances he wants him driving out again for), he ponders his response. Doesn't come up with one, in time, apparently, because the next minute a text comes through that clearly means Dean is afraid of what his brother will say, he's chickened out and retreated from the tantalizing direction this conversation had been heading.  

_[DW_ _01:_ _08_ _AM]_ _You need to sleep, Sammy, I know you’re exhausted from all the work you’ve been doing._  

_[SW_ _01:_ _08_ _AM]_ _You just don’t want to talk to me._  

_[DW_ _01:_ _09_ _AM]_ _The problem is I wanna talk to you forever._  

_[SW_ _01:2_ _9_ _AM]_ _I need you, Dean._  

_[DW_ _01:_ _11_ _AM]_ _You’ve done just fine without me the last year._  

_[SW_ _01:_ _11_ _AM]_ _Not really._  

_[DW_ _01:_ _12_ _AM]_ _Did you decide what to do on break?_  

_[SW_ _01:_ _12_ _AM]_ _I’ll come out there._  

_[DW_ _01:_ _14_ _AM]_ _Ok. I’m taking off in the morning but you have your key and the fridge is stocked._  

_[DW_ _01:_ _14_ _AM]_ _There’s a garage door opener in the jeep._  

His chest hurts at the thought of being so close to Dean and not there. 

_[SW_ _01:_ _15_ _AM]_ _Ok._  

_[DW_ _01:_ _15_ _AM]_ _Have you taken her out yet?_  

_[SW_ _01:_ _16_ _AM]_ _Not yet._  

_[DW_ _01:_ _19_ _AM]_ _Oh. Guess you’ve been busy._  

He can hear the hurt in that statement, and he knows he needs to soothe his brother’s ruffled feathers. 

_[SW_ _01:2_ _0_ _AM]_ _It doesn’t feel right without you._  

Its the truth, anyway. 

_[DW_ _01:2_ _0_ _AM]_ _Well, you’re gonna have to get over that if you’re heading out here. Have to make the drive somehow._  

_[DW_ _01:2_ _0_ _AM]_ _When are you coming?_  

_[SW_ _01:2_ _2_ _AM]_ _Does it matter? You wont be there anyway._  

_[DW_ _01:2_ _2_ _AM]_ _I’m not gonna fight with you like this, man. I’m just trying to do right by you._  

_[DW_ _01:2_ _2_ _AM]_ _Have a good night._  

Sam has a feeling his brother turned his phone off, once again ran away from him, so doesn’t bother to respond.  

 

He leaves early the next morning. It is easy, too easy, to once again pack his life away in a couple of duffle bags, throw them in the back of the Jeep and drive off. He doesn’t really spare a goodbye for anyone, though he knows he’ll catch Hell for it later, and can’t be bothered to care. He holds onto a faint hope that Dean will be there when he gets to Reno, even though he knows that won’t be the case. 

The jeep drives like a dream, like he knew it would. Its kind of a gas hog, not that he would expect something eco-friendly from his brother, and it feels amazing to be driving in the open air—though he has a feeling that Dean picked it so he could make fun of his long hair. 

He arrives in Reno about lunch time. He texts Dean as he pulls in, finds out that Dean has already left, and sulks a bit in his car before attempting to find food. A visit to Chipotle later and he is once again left staring blankly at his steering wheel, trying to figure out what to do with himself. He drives around pointlessly for a bit before deciding he might as well start filling out job applications. If he’s gonna be here all summer, he needs to make some money so he isn’t bumming off his brother all the time. Dean’s already made sure he has a place to live, so Sam isn’t having to stress about saving up like he had previously, but he still wants the comfort of financial security, something he never had in the past. He finds a few bookstores that seem like they’d be okay, applying at Barnes and Noble and Borders as well as a few family owned used bookstores that he knows he would be more comfortable in. He crosses his fingers that the last one works out, because it’s not too far from Dean’s house, its cluttered and homey and smells like old books, and  the old guy who runs it seems to be interesting and really loves his store, and there’s a nice coffee  shop across the street that he is assured sells the most delicious coffee. So basically it sounds perfect. He gives up after that, knowing he’ll just be disappointed by everything that comes next, so finally makes the short drive back to the house.  

He looks at it with new eyes as he pulls up, sees the pride that Dean has put into it. The lawn looks perfectly manicured, the trees trimmed. He hits the garage door remote in the car, and is unsurprised to see the garage in immaculate condition. It is clearly Dean’s passion. The floor is freshly painted, a gray with speckled blue that looks strangely normal, and not one spot of oil mars it. There are cabinets that Sam is sure must hold all of Dean’s tools, perfectly arranged like the neat freak he is when it comes to stuff like this. He lets the door from the garage swing open, and is surprised to see a lack of salt lines as he goes through. The kitchen is perfectly clean, and he breathes a sigh of relief at the cool air on his skin, not realizing until this moment how warm he had been. He pours a cup of water from the fridge after rustling through a few cabinets that are well stocked with mismatched utensils and china, and quickly downs it. He continues on, throws his bags in his room and collapses on the couch.  

It is dark outside when he awakes, and he blearily looks at his phone, paying more attention to the missed calls and texts than he does the time. 

There’s a few texts from his friends that he easily ignores, but the three missed calls from Dean make his heart beat faster in his chest and he instantly dials back, praying that there wasn’t a problem with a hunt, that he isn’t hurt again, passed out in some random warehouse where Sam can’t get to him. 

It rings several times and he’s afraid he’s going to be sent to voicemail, and he’s panicking about what it means, where Dean might be because he never told him, and Sam kicks himself for not asking. He has been so dismissive of Dean the last year, and he never even thought about it until that horrible day Dean wound up in the hospital. Never gave a thought to Dean hunting alone, being injured or worse, and Sam never would have known the difference. Then after the hospital he was so infuriated he forgot about what was more important here. Dean is the only thing that matters, that has ever mattered. 

His worrying is cut short by a shouted “hello?”, barely audible above loud bass, dance music and screaming.  

Shit. Apparently he worried for nothing. 

“Sam? I can’t hear you. Hold on. I’m going outside.” He shouts again. 

“It’s fine. Nevermind. Have fun.” 

“Don’t you dare hang up that phone, baby boy, or I’ll string you up by your toes.” 

He tries to tell himself that it’s not the nickname that makes his hand freeze as he readies to snap it shut. 

Suddenly there is silence on the other side, and Sam breathes a sigh of relief at being rid of the noise of what was clearly a bar. Glad he managed to separate Dean from whatever slutty women hung off of him, but he tries to avoid that thought. 

“Where have you been?” Dean is almost yelling at him now. This is his big brother, overprotective voice, and he sinks back into the couch upon hearing it. It’s been so long he wants to laugh with relief, cry at how much he missed it, feel embarrassed that he caused it. He’s not sure which emotion to go with. 

“I… I fell asleep on the couch. Guess I was more tired than I thought.” 

A gentle laugh. “You’re burnt out, man. You’ve had a long few weeks, with finals and all. You need to relax.” 

“Yeah, I guess so.” 

“What did you do today?” 

He feels lulled by this easy conversation and curls back into the couch. “Not much,” he yawns. “Drive out here went well, jeep drives fantastic. Its great, thank you.” 

“How many times are you gonna thank me for it? It’s just a hunk a metal. Calm down.” 

He knows it’s not, that it means more than that to both of them, but Dean has never accepted gratitude well.  

“When I got here I grabbed a burrito, applied for some jobs, and then just came back to the house.” 

“Applying for a job already? Dude, what did I say about taking it easy?” 

Sam laughs. “What? Want me to sit around bored for 12 weeks? Be a kept man?” He instantly regrets that statement, worried it came out too flirty, too like those old conversations. 

“Hmm,” Dean ponders back teasingly, and it is only now that Sam realizes how drunk his brother is, with the easy drawl of his voice, and shudders happily. 

_Loose lips sink ships._  

“That depends. Are you gonna bring me lunch at work? Be waitin’ with a beer in hand when I come home?” 

“I could probably be persuaded. Depends on what I get out of it.” 

Fuck. That definitely sounded suggestive. He means it suggestively too, he knows, he just shouldn’t. This is dangerous territory to get into, but somehow he can’t find it in him to back down. 

“Oh yeah, baby boy? What would you want in return?” 

He groans at the nickname, tossed out so casually for the second time that night. Dean hasn’t called him that really in years, not since he got into his angry teen years and began lashing out, when he started wanting his big brother to see him as an adult for all the wrong reasons.  

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, I’d take what I can get.” 

A sharp breath. “Oh yeah?” 

“The couch smells like you,” he abruptly returns. “I just want to lay here, forever. I probably won’t even go back to my bed tonight, just sleep here so I can smell you, even if you’re not here.” 

Dean is taking deep, steadying breaths at this point, he hears.  

“Sleep in my bed.” Sam can tell this was blurted out, words stumbling over a drunken tongue.  

There’s silence for a moment, and he uses the opportunity to get up, head down the hall, collapse into the bed, burrowing under the covers. 

“God. The thought of you in my bed.” He laughs, almost bitterly. “Why did I come to this fucking thing?” 

“Where are you?” He decides to question, hating to lose the seductive roll of the conversation but desperate for information. 

“A stupid car show. In Vegas. Boss asked me to come down with him, it’s good for business.” 

“Oh. I thought you were going on a hunt.” 

“Not yet. I have a few days here, and then when I leave I have two weeks off, was gonna go on a hunt then. Figured after that I might find somewhere else to be for a few weeks.” He says the last heavily. 

“Why? Why are you trying to run away from me?” 

“I’m not trying to. I’m just trying to give you the space you want.” 

“I never want space from you.” 

“Coulda fooled me.” 

“It’s true.” 

“Then what was the last year about?” 

“Can we… Can we talk about this later? I just want to enjoy talking to you, now. I don’t wanna fight.” 

“Okay. That’s… That’s okay. Whenever you want to, you know where I am.” 

“Thank you. So what’re you doing, tonight?” 

“Well, we got here about 1, checked into the hotel, went to a few meetings that he had scheduled for us, and then the boys decided to drag me out to some club.” 

“Strip club? Should be the best looking strippers you’ve ever seen. Shouldn’t have any problems finding one to take home.” He tries to ignore the jealousy in his voice. 

“Don’t be stupid, Sammy. First of all, wasn’t a strip club. Second of all, I didn’t want to be there to begin with. I’m already back at my hotel, layin’ in bed, talkin' to the only person I ever want to talk to.” 

“I wasn’t meaning you’d be talking.” 

“Well, you’re not here, so I’m relegated to talking regardless.” 

They’re both shocked into momentary silence at that.  

“Fuck. That came out wrong.” 

His heart slams in his chest.  

“Did it?” 

“Wish I was home.” He sighs. “First opportunity to spend time with you in months and instead I’m seven hours away. Apparently I’m trying to torture myself.” 

“Why’d you do it, then? Are you really planning on avoiding me the whole time I’m here?” 

“I don’t know if I can.” His heart almost breaks at the painful honesty. “I know I should, but knowing you’re there, that I could be there too for the first time in 9 months. I don’t know. Driving down here, knowing you’d be walking through that door was painful. I’m already miserable, and you just got there. How’my supposed to go another month or longer?” 

“Why would you want to?” 

It’s a low utterance, and he doesn’t try masking the pain in it. 

“Fuck. Because I thought that’s what you needed from me. Thought it would make you happy. And because I’m afraid of what I’d do otherwise.” 

“Afraid of what?” 

All of a sudden there are loud banging noises from the other end, and Sam jumps in surprise. Cocooned as he is in Dean, he forgets the outside world exists. His brother groans. “Gotta go, the guys just got back. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?” 

“Promise?” 

“Yeah. Gotta go. Love you.” He rushes off the phone, too quick for Sam to say anything back, as if he is embarrassed, and Sam knows he’s grinning dopily but doesn’t even care. That’s the first time he’s actually heard Dean utter those words since he was thirteen and scared when Dean was leaving for a hunt, leaving Sam behind yet again in a hotel. Dad had always yelled at Dean about babying Sam, that it wasn’t good for him, that Sam needed to grow up, and Sam had been mad about being left behind yet again, angry that his brother thought of him only as a little kid and a nuisance. He had yelled at Dean for it then, and Dean’s face had tightened, he had quickly removed his hand from Sam’s hair, and he turned and marched away, perfect little soldier as normal, all tight muscle and controlled emotion. It wasn’t until later that Sam realized the profound effect his words had on their relationship.  

_[SW_ _01:_ _08_ _AM]_ _Love you too._  

He’s dozing by the time his phone vibrates back. 

_[DW_ _01:_ _13_ _AM]_ _Oh yeah?_  

_[SW_ _01:_ _13_ _AM]_ _More than anyone._  

_[DW_ _01:_ _14_ _AM]_ _You enjoying my bed?_  

_[SW_ _01:_ _14_ _AM]_ _You getting off on the thought of me being in it?_  

_[DW_ _01:_ _16_ _AM]_ _God, Sammy. You can’t say those things._  

_[SW_ _01:_ _16_ _AM]_ _Why?_  

He feels rebellious, now. 

_[SW_ _01:_ _16_ _AM]_ _You never_ _stopped me before._  

_[DW_ _01:_ _18_ _AM]_ _Yeah, but you never knew who I was before._  

_[SW_ _01:_ _18_ _AM]_ _And you know by now that it wouldn’t have stopped me if I had._  

Fuck. He can’t believe he’s said that, that he’s finally admitted to what he feels like they’ve been dancing around for six months now. The texting gives him the sense of anonymity and being wrapped in Dean’s smell makes him feel drunk in ways that alcohol doesn’t manage. 

_[DW_ _01:2_ _2_ _AM]_ _You’re confused._  

_[SW_ _01:2_ _2_ _AM]_ _Yeah, you’re right, I am._  

_[SW_ _01:2_ _2_ _AM]_ _About the mixed messages you’re constantly sending me. I’m sick of it._  

_[SW_ _01:2_ _3_ _AM]_ _You flirt with me, then you get pissed off at me for flirting with you. The things you say when you’re drunk… I don’t get you._  

_[DW_ _01:2_ _4_ _AM]_ _Trust me, you don’t want to._  

_[SW_ _01:2_ _4_ _AM]_ _Who says?_  

_[DW_ _01:27 AM]_ _I don’t know what you want from me, Sam. You don’t talk to me for nine months, but the way you talk about me to other people… You_ _don’t want to hear from me but then get mad at me for not being there. You blow hot and then cold, man. I can’t make sense of it. You’re gonna have to explain it to me,_ _because I’m too drunk to_ _understand,_ _and too dumb the rest of the time._  

_[DW_ _01:2_ _8_ _AM]_ _Do you realize how lucky you were that_ _I didn’t storm your dorm room_ _on Christmas morning?_ _I felt like the worst big brother alive. The worst person on the face of the Earth. I had to talk myself out of it, the whole 3 hour drive, had to talk myself out of pounding on your door,_ _picking the lock it I had to, grabbing you and wrapping you up like I used to when you were a kid and never letting you go._  

_[DW_ _01:2_ _8_ _AM]_ _I still can’t believe you’d ever think I could hate you._  

He’s once again grateful for his brother’s drunken state, because otherwise he wouldn’t be this open, and Sam needs this comforting honesty, this verbal outpouring of love, more than anything else. More than air, he’s pretty sure.  

_[SW_ _01:2_ _9_ _AM]_ _Why didn’t you_ _?_ _You should hate me._  

_[SW_ _01:2_ _9_ _AM]_ _Bobby told me the same thing._  

_[SW_ _01:_ _30_ _AM]_ _I hate me._  

_[DW_ _01:_ _30_ _AM]_ _I love you more than anything in the world._ _There’s no room for anything else._  

_And Bobby only says that because he knows what happened, after you left. He doesn’t mean it, he’s just worried bout me._  

_[SW_ _01:_ _31_ _AM]_ _What happened?_  

_[DW_ _01:_ _31_ _AM]_ _Damn it._  

_[DW_ _01:_ _32_ _AM]_ _You should go to bed, Sammy._  

_[SW_ _01:_ _35_ _AM]_ _Don’t try to distract me. You need to tell me._ _Is this about you getting hurt? The physical therapy?? Fuck. I forgot all about it. Dean, what the fuck happened?_  

_[DW_ _01:_ _36_ _AM]_ _I just… I think this conversation might be better for when I’m not drunk._ _Prefe_ _rably_ _face to face, if you can stand to see me._  

_[SW_ _01:_ _37_ _AM]_ _Fine. I’ll let you have an out tonight. But tomorrow, you’re all mine._  

He mirrors their old messages with a smile and a rush of emotion, thankful that they’ve reached a place at least where they’re sort of able to mention those days. 

_[DW_ _01:_ _37_ _AM]_ _I like the sound of that._  

Clearly Dean remembers the conversation too, and Sam potentially reads too much into that, but sighs happily and snuggles further into the comforter. 

_[SW_ _01:_ _39_ _AM]_ _Fine. Sleep well, asshole. I’ll make sure to enjoy your bed for you._  

_[DW_ _01:_ _39_ _AM]_ _Don’t enjoy it too much without me, buttercup. I’ll talk to you in the morning._   

 

He falls into his dreams easily, and wakes up feeling better than he has in months. There’s sunshine streaming in through the large window that overlooks the front yard when he opens his eyes, and he groans, pulls the pillow over his eyes, and decides to lounge in bed for the morning. It’s his first day of break, his first official day of summer, and he should be able to enjoy it.  

He pulls his phone out. It's only eight a.m, but he hasn’t heard from Dean yet, so he fires him a quick text before responding to the messages from his friends from school, more for lack of anything better to do. 

_[DW_ _08_ _:_ _09_ _AM]_ _God, I’m so fucking hungover._  

_[SW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _09_ _AM]_ _You’re getting old._  

_[DW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _11_ _AM]_ _Fuck you. I just don’t drink enough. I’m a big boy now._  

_[SW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _12_ _AM]_ _Did you grow when I was gone?_ _Pics or it didn’t happen._  

_[DW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _13_ _AM]_ _Hardy_ _har_ _har_ _._  

_[DW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _14_ _AM]_ _Just because you’re_ _the jolly green giant doesn’t mean you can pick on me._  

_[SW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _14_ _AM]_ _What’re you doing?_  

_[SW 08:22 AM] DEEEE_ _ANSWER MEEEE_  

_[SW_ _0_ _8_ _:27 AM]_ _You said you were all mine this morning_ _:(_  

_[DW_ _0_ _8_ _:27 AM]_ _Jesus, can’t a guy shower?_  

_[SW_ _0_ _8_ _:27 AM]_ _I wasn’t invited, so no._  

_[DW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _31_ _AM]_ _Next time, I’ll send you an embossed invitation. You can drive 7 hours to creep on me in the shower._  

_[DW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _31_ _AM]_ _Fucking weirdo._ _And it took me_ _3mins_ _to respond that time, your highness, because I had to dry off. In case you were wondering._  

_[SW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _32_ _AM]_ _Thank you for the play by play. Does it come with pictures?_ _What are you doing today?_  

_[DW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _34_ _AM]_ _In your dreams._ _Grabbing breakfast, then joining them for the show. The impalas already there._  

_[SW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _35_ _AM]_ _T_ _he car’s there, so your pretty face doesn’t matter?_  

_[DW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _36_ _AM]_ _Sexy, Sammy. Not pretty. I’m not a chick._  

_[SW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _36_ _AM]_ _Whatever. I’ve seen those cute freckles and those big green eyes and thick_ _long lashes. Can’t fool me._  

_[DW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _3_ _7 AM]_ _Least I don’t have chick hair_ _,_ _you dick_ _. Did it wave in the wind the whole way out?_  

_[SW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _39_ _AM]_ _Damn it! I knew that’s why you bought it for me!_  

_[SW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _39_ _AM]_ _Maybe I will trade it in for a_ _prius_ _!_  

_[DW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _40_ _AM]_ _Yeah, good way to complete your total douche-bag look._  

_[SW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _40_ _AM]_ _Whatever. Apparently_ _I can get laid in spite of it._  

_[DW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _41_ _AM]_ _That’_ _s because you’re a_ _lucky_ _bastard_ _to be blessed with Winchester looks. Who wouldn’t want_ _someone who kinda looks like your big brother?_  

_[SW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _42_ _AM]_ _Oh yes. All my_ _sexual_ _prowess is directly attributable to you._  

_[DW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _42_ _AM]_ _At least you admit to_ _it._  

_[SW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _43_ _AM]_ _Sarcasm._ _L_ _earn to read subtex_ _t_ _._  

_[DW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _47_ _AM]_ _Buttsex_ _? What?_  

_[SW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _4_ _7 AM]_ _In your dreams._  

_[DW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _48_ _AM]_ _Dude. If either of us ever dreamed about_ _buttsex_ _, it was probably definitely you._  

He pauses his response, uncomfortable as he makes the awkward realization that before hitting on his brother, he had also confessed to all the gay sex he’d been having. 

_[DW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _48_ _AM]_ _Not that there’s anything wrong with that. We’re all gay sometimes._  

_[DW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _49_ _AM]_ _I just happen to get more men’s attention, thanks to my hot body._  

_[DW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _50_ _AM]_ _Read: hot. Not pretty._  

_[SW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _51_ _AM]_ _Oh no. Hots exactly how I’d describe it, don’t worry._ _Its that baby face that makes you so adorable._  

_[DW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _53_ _AM]_ _Fuck you and your girly hair._  

_[DW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _53_ _AM]_ _So what are you doing today while I’m hard at work?_  

_[SW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _54_ _AM]_ _Well_ _, I’m planning on lounging around in your bed for another few hours._  

_[DW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _55_ _AM]_ _Are you naked_ _?_  

He tries to figure out if this is the start of sexting or just normal brotherly ribbing. He’s not sure, afraid to go too far either way, so straddles the line. 

_[SW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _5_ _7 AM]_ _That depends. What are you going to do to me if I say yes?_ _I don’t want you to kill me for my state of dress._  

_[DW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _5_ _7 AM]_ _Turn you over and tan your hide, you pervert._  

_[DW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _58_ _AM]_ _No one gets to be naked in my bed if I’m not there._  

Dean, he’s pretty sure, is doing the same thing, keeping it on the line so he can pull back if necessary, say he’s just joking and forget about it. 

Sam decides to throw caution to the wind. 

_[SW_ _0_ _9_ _:_ _00_ _AM]_ _Kinky._  

_[SW_ _0_ _9_ _:_ _00_ _AM]_ _So come home, it’ll be a party._  

_[DW_ _0_ _9_ _:_ _01_ _AM]_ _I am way, way too sober for this conversation._  

_[SW_ _0_ _9_ _:_ _02_ _AM]_ _Why? Is it getting you off?_  

_[SW_ _0_ _9_ _:_ _02_ _AM]_ _Trying to figure out if Im touching myself?_  

_[DW_ _0_ _9_ _:_ _04_ _AM]_ _Are_ _you trying to kill me?_ _Jesus, Sammy._  

_[SW_ _0_ _9_ _:_ _05_ _AM]_ _Maybe. That’s what you get for abandoning me_ _._  

_[DW_ _0_ _9_ _:_ _07_ _AM]_ _Don’t be a bitch._  

_[SW_ _0_ _9_ _:_ _07_ _AM]_ _Jerk._  

_[DW_ _0_ _9_ _:_ _08_ _AM]_ _I have to get to work_ _. Don’t have too much fun without me_ _._   

He does touch himself after that, throwing his phone down and running his hand over the hard head of his cock, catching a little precum between his fingers and using it as he fists himself. He finishes too quickly, and gasps Dean’s name as he comes in his hand. 

He lounges in bed after that for a few hours, napping on and off, before finally hunger forces him up. He doesn’t even bother getting dressed as he wanders to the kitchen, scratching idly at his stomach. Digging through the fridge has him the makings for a sandwich, and he scarfs it down, not realizing how hungry he is until this moment. Idly he realizes he missed dinner last night and it is well into the afternoon now. He grabs another sandwich and then decides to shower, trying to behave somewhat productively with his day.  

He spends the afternoon unpacking his bags, putting everything away and then rearranging, realizing as he does how little he has. Just clothes, a few school books, and a personal book or two. He doesn’t have stuff. No knickknacks or decorations like his friends had, no pictures or memorabilia from home. No sense of home, either, besides the scent of worn leather and the image of bright green eyes. His day languishes on like this, and he finally gets bored enough of his own head to work up to courage to text Dean again. It’s dark by this point, and he’s hoping that means his big brother is free for him again. 

_[SW_ _0_ _7_ _:_ _48_ _P_ _M]_ _Have fun at work?_  

_[DW_ _0_ _7_ _:_ _52_ _P_ _M]_ _Got a few new jobs, so it was a fairly successful day._  

_[DW_ _0_ _7_ _:_ _52_ _P_ _M]_ _Have fun_ _dicking_ _around all day?_  

_[SW_ _0_ _7_ _:_ _53_ _P_ _M]_ _Eh. It was relaxing._  

He realizes as he says the words that this is actually the most relaxing day he’s had in months, that he feels content here. 

_[DW_ _0_ _7_ _:_ _5_ _7_ _P_ _M]_ _Good._  

_[SW_ _0_ _7_ _:_ _5_ _7_ _P_ _M]_ _Why aren’t there salt lines anywhere?_  

_[_ _S_ _W_ _0_ _7_ _:_ _5_ _7_ _P_ _M]_ _Its_ _something he’s been wondering since yesterday, but was too distracted to ask._  

_[DW_ _0_ _7_ _:_ _58_ _P_ _M]_ _Look around. You tell me._  

_[SW_ _0_ _7_ _:_ _58_ _P_ _M]_ _Deeaaann_ _. I don’t wanna move._  

_[DW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _01_ _P_ _M]_ _Are you still in bed?_  

_[DW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _01_ _P_ _M]_ _Lazy sod._  

_[SW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _02_ _P_ _M]_ _Whatever, you’re just jealous._  

_[DW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _02_ _P_ _M]_ _Maybe. I have a few hours ahead of me still._  

_[SW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _04_ _P_ _M]_ _Too bad you decided to bail on me for work._  

_[DW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _08_ _P_ _M]_ _Dude._ _Its_ _an extra 3 days. You haven’t seen me in practically 10 months. Do_ _you really wanna talk about bailing on people? Because we can go._  

_[SW_ _0_ _8:10 P_ _M]_ _Don’t be an ass._  

_[DW_ _08:11 P_ _M]_ _I’m an ass?_  

_[DW_ _0_ _8:12_ _P_ _M]_ _What the fuck, dude_ _._ _You pick and pick, you throw fits, you_ _make no sense._ _But I’m the bad guy._  

_[SW_ _0_ _8:13 P_ _M]_ _Seriously?_  

_[SW_ _0_ _8:13 P_ _M]_ _I said I was coming._  

_[DW_ _0_ _8:15 P_ _M]_ _Yeah, that was in between bouts of you not speaking to me,_ _the day before you headed out,_ _how was I supposed to know what the fuck you wanted besides a bed to sleep in?_  

_[SW_ _0_ _8_ _:_ _15 P_ _M]_ _If you want me to leave I will._  

_[SW_ _0_ _8:15 P_ _M]_ _I c_ _an be gone before you get home._  

The blood is rushing in his ears, and he’s pissed, he just doesn’t know why. 

In the back of his mind he notices his phone ringing, and he snatches it up, forces it open, and snaps “What?” before he’s even thought of it. 

“What is your problem?” His brother is furious, he can tell from his tone.  

“What problem? If you don’t want me here, just say the word and I’ll be gone.” 

“Who ever said anything about me not wanting you there?” Dean sounds more lost than angry at this point, but it doesn’t do much to assuage his own fury.  

“You’re the one who disappeared this weekend when you knew I was gonna be here.” 

“Sammy. I’ve had this job lined up for months. I promised my boss in like December I’d do it.” 

“Fine, but then you’re going hunting after that. You’re trying to avoid me.” 

“I’m trying to give you what you need!” Dean explodes.  “You tell me you need space, so I try to give you space and then you cling onto me! You didn’t talk to me for days, told me ‘you’d think about’ coming to stay with me, like it’s such a fucking hardship to you. So what do you expect me to do? Why would I expect you to want me around, exactly, when you ran away from me without looking back, blew me off at every opportunity possible, no matter what I did for you?” 

“So much for being over that!” 

“Oh grow up! I said that we already had the conversation. I don’t need you to apologize. I just don’t know how you can expect me to be completely okay!” 

“All I wanted was to go to college, to stop hunting!” 

“Oh? If that’s all you wanted, why did that mean not texting me back, changing your number, never bothering to contact me? Fuck you, Sam. You’re 20 years old, don’t act like a child. Own up to what was going on with you, or don’t, but fuck you if you think I’m going to take responsibility for how you act.” 

The phone slams shut.  

 

The next two days pass slowly. Sam ends up getting hired at the bookstore he liked on a part time basis, just a few hours a couple of days a week. Unfortunately he has a few more days until it starts, so he is left to his own devices, left to ponder the tumultuous relationship he and Dean seem to be enjoying. He continues to lounge around in a state of boredom, alternating between pissed off with his brother and longing desperately for him to come home. He’s frustrated enough with Dean that he doesn’t try texting him again, and Dean is also keeping his distance. He’s surprised, then, when he gets a text from him on Tuesday night.  

_[DW_ _09_ _:2_ _2_ _P_ _M]_ _So do you want me to come home or not?_  

_[_ _S_ _W_ _0_ _9_ _:2_ _3_ _P_ _M]_ _What do you want?_  

_[DW_ _0_ _9_ _:2_ _8_ _P_ _M]_ _Honestly?_  

_[DW_ _0_ _9_ _:2_ _8_ _P_ _M]_ _I’ve wanted to be there since you said you would be. I didn’t want to drive away on Saturday. But I can always go on a hunt. I have the week off and a hunt lined up, so just tell me what you want._  

_[_ _S_ _W_ _0_ _9_ _:2_ _9_ _P_ _M]_ _Come home_  

He doesn’t get another response, so he lays in his brother’s bed, anxiety growing. Dean will be home tomorrow. The first time he will have seen him awake, face to face, within 100 feet of him in almost a year. It feels like it’s been a century, and morning feels like a millennia away. He anticipates that his anxiety will keep him awake, that he’ll stay up, staring at the ceiling all night worrying about what he’s going to say when Dean walks in. Yet surprisingly he easily drifts off into a comfortable sleep, surrounded by the comforting smell and lingering presence. 

The door to the bedroom opens sometime later. He’s not sure how long its been, and it wakes him up, barely, so he’s still hovering on the edge of sleep. “Bed hog,” Dean groans as he drops his duffel bag on the floor. He rubs at his eyes. “Hngh?” barely audible, certainly not coherent.  

Dean unclasps his belt, pushes his jeans down, and Sam feels like he should be staring in between those long, blurry blinks, but can barely focus. Dean chuckles low in his throat. “Go to sleep, bitch. We’ll talk in the morning. Guess I’m camping out in your bed tonight.” 

“No!” he argues, finally forming a word, but doesn’t bother with anything more than that, just starts scooting over. Dean sighs, and Sam’s too tired, his brain is too fuzzy, to read too much into that. He whines a little until Dean is suddenly there in the warm spot next to him, not touching him, but his warmth radiates regardless.  

 

Sun streams in the next morning, and he groans, throws a lanky arm over his head, and tucks himself into the warmth next to him, pressing himself against it, reaching his hands down to stop the motion and then letting them fall gently in place.  

“Good morning, sunshine. No need to ask if you’re happy to see me.” The voice is gruff with sleep, and he cuddles into it even more before realization hits. His eyes snap open.  

“Dean?? Why the…why are you in my bed?!”  

He realizes, as Dean opens his mouth to respond, how stupid that comment is and feels himself go red.    
“Really? Did you flip our rooms when I was gone without telling me? Because last I checked, this is definitely my bed.”  

“Sorry,” he squeaks out, and then suddenly realizes how close they are, where his hand is, and exactly what is pressing against his brother. With an internal litany of “oh my God”, he yanks himself back.  

Dean lets out an easy chuckle. “Hey, Sasquatch, either you fuckin spoon me or you share the blankets. You hogged the covers and the bed the whole night, the least you can do is let me relax this morning. Jesus.”  

He reaches behind him and grabs some of the blankets from Sam, hand lingering overlong.  

“I thought you weren’t coming back until today.” His voice sounds too loud in the quiet room.  

“I could tell. I’m assuming you wouldn’t have been asleep in my bed otherwise.” There’s awkward silence for a moment, and Dean’s body starts to relax again, and he slowly inches closer.  

“Why’d you drive back last night?”  

“Just sick of not being here.” He wishes that Dean would say the things in person that he’s been saying in text for the last few days. He waits several minutes, until he can tell his brother is on the verge of falling asleep again, and mumbles, “I missed you, Dee.” 

“Missed you too, baby boy.”  

They doze a while longer, and the next thing he knows Dean is struggling to evade his grasp, pushing at his arms and kicking against his shins. “Get off, you giant octopus. I have to freakin piss.” He stumbles out of the room, shirt rumpled and hair in disarray, and Sam grins.  

Dean hums to himself, he can tell, something that he’s pretty sure is ACDC, and he spreads himself over the bed, diagonally, using one leg to kick off the now stifling comforter so his body, clothed only in a pair of plaid boxer shorts, is bared to the cool air of the fan.    
Dean’s showering now, he can faintly hear the sounds of the water, and still the quiet humming that tells him his brother is in a surprisingly good mood. The water shuts off, and there is silence for a few long moments, and then a few footsteps, and then a loud popping noise and a sting on his ass as he realized he has been slapped, hard, by Dean’s wet towel.  

“What the Hell, dude?” He brings a hand down to rub at the sore skin, pushing down past the elastic and craning his neck back to see if he can catch sight of what he is sure is a large welt, or at least bruised skin.  

Dean laughs, and he pouts, flips his body over, and tosses a pillow at his stupid brother’s face. It is then that he takes in the image before him, Dean still dripping from his shower, water droplets slipping over tanned skin to collect to the band of too tight briefs. The pout slips off his face, and he clears his throat. “Dude, put some clothes on.”  

Dean’s confused look is back. “I’m as dressed as you are. Besides, I thought we were having a pillow fight in our underwear.”  

“You haven’t even said hello to me and you’re already harassing me. Nice to see you, too.” 

“Oh, don’t be a bitch, Sam. Do you want breakfast in bed, a good morning kiss?” He stops awkwardly, and they both shift.  

They’re both working so hard on not mentioning all the things wrong with their relationship, the fighting and the flirting and the uncertainty, and it hangs awkwardly in between them, neither one wanting to touch it.  

“Seriously, dude, I’m starved. Up and at’em.” Dean grabs clothes from the dresser, and Sam can’t decide on whether to feel grateful or disappointed.  

He is surprised by how easy it is to fall back into their regular patterns. Dean makes them both grilled cheese (just the way he likes it with a gooey center and a buttery, crispy, almost burned bread) while Sam preps the coffee, a nicer brand that he is used to partaking in, and even after several days he is still half reveling in the luxury. They sit at the table together, awkwardly bumping knees and switching off pages of the newspaper, munching on breakfast.  

“I gotta go into work for a few hours today, what are you gonna be up to?” Dean garbles out around a mouthful of grilled cheese.  

Sam waits to swallow with a pointed look. “I got hired at a bookstore, I’m supposed to go in there to fill out paperwork in a few hours.” 

He pauses, then asks in confusion, “thought you took a few days off?” 

“No point in wasting too much time off if I’m gonna be here anyway, plus this way you get your desired ‘space’.” He uses air quotes here and makes a funny face and they sit awkwardly for a moment, not wanting to bicker, before Dean sighs.  

“Okay. When you’re done, why don’t you meet me at the shop and we can grab lunch before you come home? There’s a great burger place I know about.” Despite the sandwich on his hands, his eyes light up still at the thought of food and Sam smiles and rolls his eyes. 

“Fine, dork. What time you want me to meet you?” 

“Just whenever you’re done. I’ll send you the address.” 

  

Filling out paperwork is a breeze, but he ends up staying and talking to the owner for another hour or so after and gets hours worked out for the next week. Dean’s shop is just a few minutes away, and when he gets there the parking lot is fairly empty and the doors to the garage are opened, a beautiful yellow 60’s Mustang with the hood open in the furthest spot. Boot covered feet stick out at the end, and Sam bends down and yanks at them, maybe a bit forcefully, but already sick of the thing hiding the view of his brother from him. Dean’s revealed in inches, jeans that Sam knows are snug in all the right places, white washed from overuse and ripped at the knees, grease prints smeared. A hint of skin is revealed next, tan and taut and his stomach flips at the view, then a black t-shirt, a nicely displayed neck, a strong jaw, cheeks flushed from heat, bright eyes blinking into the light, and then a huge grin stretches across his face.  

“Sammy!”  

There’s a childlike joy there, and nothing would have been able to keep Sam’s face from lighting up in return, even if he had wanted to. 

He reaches out a hand to grab for Dean’s now up-stretched one, grips it tightly despite the grease and dirt.  

Suddenly Dean is there, encroaching on his personal space, and he realizes he’s still essentially holding his hand and drops it uncomfortably.  

“Hey,” he greets awkwardly, shuffling his feet a bit. 

Dean opens his mouth to respond only to be interrupted by a delicate looking hand on his shoulder.  

“Who do we have here?” 

“This is Sam,” Dean casually introduces, trying to keep his face blank. Sam wonders the reason for this, and doesn’t bother to reach out and take the hand that’s hanging out for him to shake.  

“Sammy, this is my boss’s daughter, Gina.” 

“Sammy, huh? This is who you were in a rush to get back for?” She laughs, and it’s not the warm sound it should be. Sam uses this opportunity to scan her. She seems like the sort of girl his brother should be into, somewhat skanky in tight shorts and a tube top but fit and way too aware of how good looking she is. Her hair is long and bottle blonde, and she tosses it over her shoulder when she catches him looking. He reaches out for Dean again uncomfortably, and Dean grasps his hand again, though Sam can tell from his posture that he’s uncertain of this new development they can hopefully not discuss later. 

“Oooh.” She laughs awkwardly, but it still hasn’t lost the cruel tilt. “I didn’t know you swung that way, Dean.” She pauses. “But then it must not be exclusive. Unless it was something else I felt in your pocket when we were dancing in that club.” 

The back of Dean’s neck goes red, and Sam can feel his hand begin to sweat. Still, no one else would have caught onto these tells to realize just how pissed his brother is. Dean takes a step forward, and Sam tugs at his arm. “Dean, it’s okay, let’s go grab lunch.” 

Dean backs down instantly.  

“Look, Gina, I don’t think now is an appropriate time to discuss this.” Meaning Dean is pissed off enough that he’s going to say something cruel, and he apparently wants to keep his job bad enough to refrain. Sam, whose never seen Dean care about anything besides hunting and his little brother, is surprised by that.  

“Oh, scared to talk about how you almost went for it in that club in front of your boyfriend? What would he think of the way you were all over me? It was pretty clear what you wanted there,” a big smirk in Sam’s direction. 

“I’m not interested in you, Gina. Even if Sam weren’t a thing, I wouldn’t be interested in you, not the least because you’re my boss’s daughter, and I don’t think it would be appropriate. I’m sorry if you got the wrong idea, but I was just really dancing, and I would have stopped it before it went further, even if Sam hadn’t called. Now, I really do need to go, I promised someone lunch.” 

Sam, still stuck on the “even if Sam weren’t a thing”, misses the entire rest of the speech, and doesn’t take his queue to leave. It takes him a moment to see Dean start to walk off, and is only jarred into movement by Dean’s grip on his hand tightening. He realizes then that they’re still holding hands and grins, only reluctantly letting go when they reach the car.  

The whole way to the restaurant, he sits in the impala, glancing at Dean's hands on the steering wheel, still utterly distracted. 

Does Dean really see this as a thing? 

 

They have a casual lunch spent in easy camaraderie before Dean returns to work. They avoid discussing anything real, but it’s never awkward, even if Sam avoids mention of those several months of contact and Dean looks knowingly at him anytime he does. He relaxes back at the house for several hours, mostly enjoying one last nap in Dean’s bed before it becomes something inappropriate. He wakes about an hour before his brother gets home and uses the opportunity to fix them up something easy for dinner, a few kabobs that are ready to be seared on the grill once the coals are heated and Dean walks through the door. Sam knows that tonight they’re both awake, Dean doesn’t have the excuse of work the next day, and they’re actually in the same room; there are no reasons to avoid this conversation, no chances to hide. He’s terrified. As much as he has been the one pushing for them to talk, he’s not sure he can handle it any more than his big brother can. 

Of course, considering he’s been in love with Dean since the tender age of 13, that probably makes sense. 

Dean is jovial when he walks through the door, so animated and full of life that Sam is sad he’s missed out on this for the last 9 months. When he sees the skewers laid out to be grilled he beams and pats his growling stomach, and soon they are seated around a little table with Dean devouring his steak, licking the marinade off of his fingers, and its lewd and messy and there’s really nothing sexy about it, despite that pink tipped tongue, but it’s just so Dean that Sam can’t help but follow the motion with his eyes, setting his own food down to focus on the more important sight in front of him.  

“We should talk.” He feels uncomfortable breaking this perfect silence they have created, but it must be done. He fiddles anxiously with a half empty skewer as he awaits a response, but Dean barely acknowledges him, just gives him a motion to continue as he chews another hunk of his undercooked meat. 

“What happened, after I left? How did you get hurt? What happened with Dad?” 

The skewer falls out of Dean’s hands. “You really want to talk about this tonight?” 

Sam nods silently. 

“Fine. But I’m going to need something stiff to drink.” 

He pushes back from the table, grips the edge for a moment, as if to steady himself, and then hauls himself up, and all of a sudden Sam can see the man that laid in the hospital bed back in March, frail and injured, tired. Damaged. He grabs the bottle of jack, considers a rocks glass, and then clearly chooses against it, just totes the bottle to the living room. The food is completely forgotten on the table, and thinking back to Dean’s too hallowed cheeks, he feels a pang of regret. Still, he follows along behind him, sitting with his back against the arm and pushing his feet on the couch to rest under his brother’s body, the same position be has sat in since he was a kid watching cartoons with a bowl of cereal.  

They sit in silence for several minutes as Dean pops off the cap and takes a few swigs. “Never thought I would have a semi normal life, you know.” His voice sounds rough, clogged with emotion. “I knew you would, wanted that apple pie life desperately for you. But I thought one of us needed to stay with Dad, and it needed to be me because you couldn’t. I wouldn’t let you.” He wants to ask questions, prod deeper, but feels that breaking the beginnings of the story would stop it all before it has even really started. Still, Dean must sense his desperation for more, because he looks down at the bottle in his hand and explains “I knew I wasn’t smart enough for college, wouldn’t be able to pull it off like you could. Besides, a lot about hunting I love. Even though the lifestyle sucks sometimes, I get to help people and gank bad guys.”  

“So why’d you stop then? It’s who you are.” 

Dean stares at the bottle in his hands. Then suddenly he is staring right into his eyes, and he’s shocked by the force of them, wants to look away, but can’t bring himself to. “No, Sammy. You’re who I am. Everything else is just details. You’re my life. You always have been.” He wipes a hand across his face. “God. This seemed so much easier when we were just texting. When I didn’t have to see you.” 

Sam stiffens, offended. “I can leave.” He moves his feet to the floor and readies himself to stand up as he says it, prepared to follow through.  

“No!” Dean practically shouts, frantic, throws himself across him to hold him in place. “No,” he repeats, a little more calmly this time.  

 He stretches a little further up on him, and Sam’s head is once again laying on the armrest and his back is bent at a weird angle with Dean in his lap and his feet still on the floor, so he brings them up to tangle with Dean’s, yanks on his brother’s hair and pulls him so he’s laying a bit higher, his head resting on his stomach, and he casually runs his hand through it. He’s completely in awe of the position he finds himself in, something he’s been practically dreaming of his entire teenage years, and almost forgets that they’re supposed to be talking, until Dean croaks out “You’re makin' me lose my train of thought.” 

He starts to pull his hand away with an embarrassed apology but is halted by a tight grip on his wrist. “Don’t stop.” 

Dean clears his throat, then continues, “You know how Dad is. When you left, it got bad. Worse, I guess. He was constantly drunk when he wasn’t on a hunt, and sometimes even when he was. And I…I wasn’t doing much better. Hell," he laughs bitterly here, "most days I was worse. I’d never really been away from you, not like that. I didn’t know what to do without you. I’m too dependent on you, Dad kept telling me. It was my fault you left, because I babied you too much. I needed you too much. It was all my fault.” He sounds shaky now, but he doesn’t stop, and Sam doesn’t want to interrupt with platitudes and reassurances and stop what he’s sure will be the only chance he gets to actually find anything else. Instead he tries to pour it all into his gestures, running consoling hands through Dean's hair, rubbing at his neck and massaging his scalp. “We were doing a hunt in Idaho a few weeks after you left. A few angry spirits. It was pretty bad, the thing really messed with our heads. We were already bad enough, but it got us really angry and all of a sudden in the middle of a hunt we were at each other’s throats instead of trying to waste the things. Then all of a sudden the spirits were attacking us, too. It was bad, everything was a confusing mess. We both got injured, which Dad blamed me for.” He pauses too long, and Sam finally breaks his silence. “Why do I feel like this is worse than you’re saying?” 

“I…I  got pretty fucked up. Dad accidentally caught me at my hip with a knife.” 

“Oh my God.” He jerks up, starts running his hands over every part of Dean he can reach. “Dee, you need to be more careful. Why didn’t you tell me?”  

“It’s fine. Like I said, it’s just my hip, you don’t need to be searching me everywhere for holes.” 

“Just your hip, never mind that two months ago you were in the hospital for something else.” He continues patting him, caressing any portion of skin he can find. “Where on your hip? Let me see.” 

“Dude. Its not a big deal. Just my hip area and down some of my thigh. It’s healed up now, good as new.” 

“Hip and thigh? How big is it? Good God.” 

“Dude. I don’t know. Calm down! Jesus fucking Christ.” 

He pauses, then pushes Dean off of him, demands “fine, take off your clothes.” 

Dean gapes frown at him from his stance beside the couch. “What?” He gapes at him, then tries to recover with a sarcastic “that’s not how I was expecting this conversation to go. Battle scars a turn on for you, too?” 

He moves impatiently, sits up and starts to reach for Dean’s jeans, not even thinking of anything besides making sure his brother is okay. 

Dean shakes his hands off. “Dude!”  

“Now, Dean. Let me see it.” 

“Fine.” The jeans are slowly pushed down first, and Sam watches but can’t see anything thanks to a pair of boxer briefs, but then the t-shirt comes off, and the top of the boxers pushed down, and Sam sees a jagged, probably four inch wide scar just to the right of his left hip, fresh pink scarring from what is still a fairly recent wound, and clearly deep. Another long scar goes along the side of his thigh, from his knee up under the underwear. He winces in sympathy and reaches out to touch his hip, grazing his fingers lightly over the scar, edging where it disappears under the elastic edge, a feather touch to avoid causing more pain, and then he can’t stop touching him, needs the reminder that he is there and alive and whole and his, so he grabs him, pulls him down, ignoring the squeaked out “Sam?” as his brother falls onto his lap, struggling to gain purchase and places his knees on either side of Sam’s waist so he is almost straddling him. Despite the position, Sam is the one in control, Dean is just a confused onlooker, Sam’s hand still wrapped in a bruising grip on his hip, and his other hand comes up behind his head in what would be lovingly if it wasn’t so forceful and demanding. “How bad?” He’s whispering now, but no less insistent. Sam can tell that he’s glancing around, looking for a way out, to put some distance between them, so he tugs at his hair sharply and tightens his grip.  

“it was… It was pretty bad. I was in the hospital for a few weeks. Had to have surgery.” He pauses, as if not sure whether to add to that, and Sam insists, “tell me everything.”  

“The lower scar on my leg you see is from a broken femur. After I got stabbed the spirits managed to catch me and throw me backwards a few dozen feet into a tree. There was some internal damage, to my intestines, some internal bleeding. They got punctured. It was pretty serious. I died a few times on the operating table.”  

Sam can feel himself go completely white at this, and then all the blood rushes back to his head and before he can even think he yanks Dean’s head the rest of the way down, and suddenly he is kissing him, except it’s more rabid than that, more of an attack, vicious and forceful and intense, and his hands wander over his brother’s muscular frame, find their way back to his scar and grips his hips, hauls him so there’s no space between them, but it’s not enough, and he pushes Dean down to the couch beside him and is on top of him the next moment and his hands are everywhere, not for pleasure as much for reassurance, to assuage the horrible fear, and the forceful kisses turn to frantic, drawn out ones, kisses that feel like they’re as important as air, maybe more so, and then he’s running his mouth along his jaw, his ear, his throat, mumbling “You can’t leave me, you can’t die. I need you. Please, Dee.”  

Dean’s hands are threaded through Sam’s too long locks, and Sam thinks dazedly that they should both have a whole new appreciation for his hair because Dean is alternating between tugging at it and forcing his head closer, ever closer. He flicks his tongue over Dean’s pulse and he moans and presses up tight against Sam’s body. Sam makes the obvious realization that his brother is practically naked beneath him, stretched out, taut and flush with obvious desire and Sam can’t breathe all of a sudden, too distracted by want. He takes deep breaths, leans the smallest bit back from his brother, and Dean keens at the loss, tries to bring him back down. Sam soothes him with a few light kisses on the neck and lips, petting his side with a calming hand, hoping that soothing motion will do something for him, too. But no, his erection is still raging in his jeans, and he knows Dean can feel it against his thigh, and all of a sudden he realizes that he feels Dean against his stomach, and he lets out a growl at the realization, forcing himself to back off a little more before he starts to heedlessly, animalistically rut against his brother.  

“Holy fuck.” Dean’s clearly just as gone as he is. 

“Sammy,” he starts, barely keeping it from turning into a moan, and Sam grows impossibly harder at the sound, one that he’s attempted to imagine for the last six years of his life basically.  

“What happened next?” He demands, harshly, still looming over Dean and glowering for all he’s worth.  

“Next?” He’s still adorably confused, which to be honest Sam’s own brain is short circuiting, all blood flow now taking the short route to his dick, but he can’t afford to think of anything else right now. Later he will revel in these glorious moments, preferably in his bed as he jacks off, but right now he needs to know. “After the surgery. What happened?” 

“I had complications from it. Had to have another surgery. Took quite a while to recover completely, a few months maybe, where I really couldn’t do anything besides lay around the house. Felt like forever before I could hunt again, but first there was physical therapy and endless hospital visits.” 

“What happened with Dad?” 

Dean sighs, and all that is left in his face is pain and Sam regrets the loss but knows that for them to proceed he has to find out. 

“I told you he blamed me for you leaving, and for the hunt going bad. He thinks… He thinks I’m too attached to you, that I screwed you up as a kid. Which is probably true.”  

Sam’s eyes blaze. “Bullshit. Anything all right with me, anything good about me, you did. Dad fucked us both up, you fixed as much as you possibly could.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m sure if he saw us now he would have a few choice words to say about the damage I did to you.” Disgust fills his gaze, and he glances away in shame. 

Sam grabs his chin. “Hey, no. This is not your fault. It’s mine. I started this.” 

Dean laughs, but it’s bitter and lifeless. “Of course it’s my fault. If I hadn’t had these… thoughts, you never would have picked up on it. You feeling like this is completely my fault.” 

Sam falls back against the couch on his ass. “What do you mean you had these thoughts? Thoughts about what?” 

“You! I told you, it’s always been you! My whole world has always been centered around you, so I shouldn’t have been surprised when it centered around you there, too. I tried to turn it off, tried to focus on girls, do everything I could to avoid it, but of course it never worked. Maybe that’s why dad bailed on me, why he hates me, why he blames me for you leaving. He probably realized what a freak I was, how much damage I did to my baby brother.” 

“You didn’t do this, Dean. I’ve… I’ve felt like this, for as long as I can remember. For as long as I’ve had these thoughts, they’ve been about you.” 

“How can that not be my fault?!” Sam watches as his muscles bunch as he reaches for the bottle again.  

He takes the bottle away. “No. Look at me.” Dean doesn’t, so he reaches down and grips his jaw, crouching over him again and forcefully tilting his head until their eyes meet. “You didn’t do this. Did you ever touch me inappropriately? Did you ever say anything to me, sexually? Did you ever put me in a position that I wouldn’t be comfortable with?” 

“I slept in a bed with you last night, Sammy!”  

“That’s not the same and you know it. We’re both consenting adults. And if you recall, I’ve been the one pushing things. I’m the one that kissed you.” 

Dean stops his movement altogether at that realization. “Damnit, Sammy. Why did you kiss me? What were you thinking?” He pushes Sam off him and moves his legs to hang over the couch, pushes his body into a sitting position.  

“I was thinking the same thing I have been for the last 6 years of my life! I’m in love with you!” 

The room goes silent.  

“Then how can you think I didn’t mess you up?”  He asks, quietly, but the words still hang in the air.  

Sam sits dumbly as his brother stumbles from the room.  

 

He wakes the next morning well after the sun has made its ascent into the sky, feeling hungover even though he never touched the bottle. He stumbles into the kitchen, weary already from what he knows will be a mess left over from last night, and blinks blearily when he realizes it’s spotless. Dean isn’t anywhere to be found, so apparently he had decided to head into work, probably in the hopes of avoiding Sam. Which, Sam decides, works out perfectly for him, because he doesn’t really want to see Dean, either. The morning has left him angry, probably partially to sexual frustration. Definitely due to rejection. 

The afternoon passing is interrupted by a call from Dean. He can hear loud noises in the background, clearly from the garage. “Hey Sam, Bobby says he wasn’t able to find anyone else to take care of the hunt I was supposed to be heading, so I really have to go. Did you want to join me?” Dean’s voice is tightly controlled normalcy.  

Sam’s anger has been festering, and he lashes out now. “So much for not wanting to be away from me.” 

“What am I supposed to do? Let people die because I can’t stand to be away from you?” 

“Why do you have to be the one to make the sacrifices? Why can’t you enjoy a few days off with your brother who you haven’t seen in 9 months?” 

“Well, it’s not like my brother was too interested in seeing me,” is the snapped response. “Did you want to go or not?” 

“Not. Apparently you missed the memo. I don’t hunt anymore.” 

He slams the phone shut before anything else can be said.  

 

He's too angry to call Dean that night when he doesn’t come home. The next day he goes back and forth between worry and anger, but is still too proud to pick up the phone. The third night he can’t talk himself into calling, so instead texts,  

_[SW_ _1_ _1:15_ _PM_ _] Alive_ _?_  

The response is still nonexistent the next morning.  

He picks up the phone, gives in and dials.  

“Hello?” Female, young-ish. Definitely not his brother. His heart rate accelerates. 

“Where’s Dean?” He checks to make sure of the person he called was the right one.  

“Who’s this?” She sounds too suspicious for her age. 

“None of your business. Give him the phone.” 

“Hey, dickbag. I don’t take orders from you. He’s busy right now, maybe I’ll have him call you back later. But based on your attitude, probably not.” 

The phone clicks, and he’s too shocked to be pissed. Calls Bobby next, and before he can even give his normal greeting, demands for the second time “Where’s Dean?” 

 “’Lo to you too, Sam. It’s nice to hear from you, too. I’m doin’ great, thanks for askin’.” 

“Bobby. He’s been gone for three days, and when I called some girl answered his phone.” He know his voice sounds horrified there, and Bobby affirms that with his laughter. 

“Well, son, I got a call about three days ago that you were being a dick and hung up on him. I needed him to take care of this for me,  there was some demonic activity that needed a hunter, and no one else as good as your brother was available.” 

“So where is he now?” 

“Well, either on a hunt or avoiding you, neither would surprise me at this point.” 

He huffs. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

The amused tone disappears quickly at that. “Sam! Goddamn it! Get your head out of your ass! If you don’t wanna be around your brother, make up your mind. But you need to tell him what you want. And actually follow through with it. You tell him you want to come stay with him, but then bitch at him for having other obligations, throw it in his face. No wonder he ran off!” 

“Where did he run off to? Besides ‘the hunt’?” 

“He needed to get some more info on the hunt from a contact I put him in touch with when he and your dad split. He could’ve just taken five minutes and called instead of driving halfway across the damn country, but now I at least see why he chose this route.” 

When Sam hangs up he annoyingly feels no better than he did before. He makes it another day and a half like this, keeping himself busy with work, rereading some schoolbooks, and obsessively cleaning the already fairly neat house. Finally, the fifth night, he gives in. 

_[SW_ _08_ _:45_ _PM]_ _I miss you_  

_[DW_ _10_ _:12 PM] oh y_ _eah? I find that hard to believe_  

_[SW_ _10_ _:13 PM] I’m sorry I’ve been hard to deal with._  

_[DW_ _10_ _:15 PM] you’re always sorry_  

_[SW_ _10_ _:15 PM] I’m not sorry I kissed you_  

_[SW_ _10_ _:20 PM] no response?_  

_[DW_ _10_ _:22 PM] I don’t know wha_ _t to say to that I guess_  

_[SW_ _10_ _:23 PM] all the things I’ve said to you, and that’s the one you can’t respond to?_  

_[SW_ _10_ _:25 PM] Maybe I am sorry because now I can’t think about any_ _thing else_  

_[SW_ _10_ _:26 PM] it was just a fantasy before and I couldn’t get it out. Now, knowing what you taste like, how you feel pressed against me…_  

_[DW_ _10_ _:27 PM] I could never think of anything else regardless_  

_[DW_ _10_ _:28 PM] are you trying to kill me?_  

_[SW_ _10_ _:30 PM_ _] then why are you fucking around with some girl?_  

He feels like some jealous girlfriend, worried that her boyfriend is out with friends for the night. 

Unfortunately it’s not too far from the truth.  

_[DW_ _10_ _:31 PM] what?_  

His phone rings before he can respond.  

“I’m sick of texting. I’m too drunk and too tired to stare at that tiny screen for any length of time, and you aren’t making any sense.”  

“How am I not making any sense?” He stops his pacing and heads towards Dean’s room, content to spend the evening surrounded by his brother’s smell and voice if they can’t be in the same room. Wants to feel close to him.  

“Your jealous girlfriend outburst, what was that about?” He can tell from the easy form of the words and the sloshing he hears in the background that Dean has been drinking, and Sam pauses to wonder how far gone he is.  

“It’s just clear you got away from me to hook up with someone. It’s cool, I get it, you need your space.”  

There’s rustling of fabric. “Dude, where do you get these ideas from? Didn’t I tell you a few days ago that it’s always you?”  

Dean’s breathing is accelerated and his voice soft and a little too fast.  

“Yeah, and then you told me you tried to focus on women instead. So what, I kissed you so you went out and did some skeezy waitress to forget about it?” 

“Do you think I’ll ever be able to come without thinking of you again? I barely could before, and then you had to go and kiss me. Not even kiss me, maul me.” He groans, and there’s more shuffling and rustling of fabric.  “Press me against the couch, grind into me. How can I think of anything else?” 

“God, what else what I was supposed to do, Dean? You were practically naked in front if me, and so fucking perfect as usual, and hurt because I hadn’t been there. And I needed you, damn it! I needed you! Can you really hold that against me, after almost a year without you, and the damned blue balls you’ve been giving me for the past 6 months?” 

“Oh, you had blue balls. Imagine mine! I knew exactly who was on the other side of that phone, with every flirty or downright dirty text message I could imagine your face, your perfect too tall body, imagine you naked and against me like that night. So no, I don’t really feel too bad for you, since I’m the one who has to live with the feel of you pressed against me, the taste of your mouth, the softness of your skin, burned in my head literally forever now.” There’s more shuffling, and a little gasping sound that instantly pings something within him.  

He pauses, trying to discern what’s going on.   

“Are you touching yourself?” He squeaks out. 

Dean moans in response, and Sam squirms in his bed. “God, I wish I was there.” His brother misses the opportunity to mention how he could be, how he asked him to be, and Sam appreciates that thought, because he’s too busy imagining what Dean looks like right this moment, and kicks off his own boxers with the image. He doesn’t want another fight, wants to revel in this moment. 

“I’m laying in your bed, wrapped in your sheets, completely naked.” 

Dean groans.  

“This isn’t the first time I’ve touched myself in your bed since I’ve been here. I can almost believe it’s you touching me, when everything smells like you like this. Imagine its you, slicking up my cock with my pre-cum, lightly rolling my balls between one hand as you yank on me.” He moans as he follows his own voice, knowing he’s going to be way too close for this, something that’s been half fantasy for the last six years of his life.  

“Baby boy….” Dean’s breathing is more rapid now, his voice rougher, and the syllables are a mixture of overly lengthened and cut short. Sam tugs rapidly at himself, knowing he won’t last long like this. “I want you, so bad. Want you in my mouth, to feel you against my tongue, to taste you. Do you want that, Dean?” 

"Ugh. God, yes. I want you any way I can get you. I haven't been able to think of anything else for the past six months but you, tipsy and looking at me with that look of adoration you used to wear." 

"I haven't either. I keep imagining you against a pool table, pressed against me, in those fucking obscene jeans you always wear to bars that are five sizes too small and meant just to torture me. There wouldn't be room to put my hand down them, I'd have to unbutton them, and I don't know if I could look at your dick without putting it in my mouth, even if it was right there in the bar. I've wanted to taste you for so long." 

Dean practically yells his release, and Sam follows quickly behind him. They’re both breathing heavily as they come down from their high, and Sam feels a sense of relaxation, of peace, that he’s fairly sure he’s never had in his life.  

“God. I love you so much,” he whispers into the phone. “I wish things were like this when we’re together. I’m sick of it, Dee. Sick of the hiding from it, trying to act like it’s not a thing anymore. I love you too much to continue to act like we’re just brothers. Even when I didn’t know who I was talking to I felt way too much for you. You’re… you’re it for me.” 

“Damn it. Sammy. You can’t say things like that.”  

Then, quieter,  

“I love you, too.” 

They sit in silence for a few moments, and then Sam clears his throat. “I need to hear the rest of it please, Dean. About what happened.” 

Dean chuckles softly. “Did you wait til I was all buzzed and feelin’ good, pliant, to bring that up?” He doesn’t sound upset about it though, so he considers it a win. 

“What do you want to know?” 

“Everything.” 

“Well, that’s not vague at all, is it?” He still seems relaxed, warm. “I told you about getting hurt. It happened the week after you left. I was in the hospital for another few weeks, got out and needed somewhere to lay low. So I got the house.” 

“What about Dad?” 

Dean sighs, and his voice gets a bit rougher. “We fought. He was already mad at me, and when I told him I wanted to settle down, take a break and find somewhere near you, he flipped. Took off.” 

“Wow.” 

“Yeah. Haven’t heard from him since.” Sam knows how upset Dean is by this, even if he is trying to blank it from his voice, trying to keep it from him. He feels awful, because he abandoned Dean, and then Dad abandoned him because of Sam. 

“Dad left, when you were hurt? When _he_  hurt you?” He doesn’t know why he should be so horrified by that, but he is. 

“You know how it is, Sam. Someone needed him, there was a hunt.” 

“You needed him!” 

“I didn’t need him! I needed you!” Dean yells back, agitated for the first time.  

He finds himself pissed, too, all of a sudden. “Well why didn’t anyone call me? Jesus!” 

There’s dead silence on the other end of the phone, and he opens his mouth to say something, anything, but is stopped short by Dean’s suddenly emotionless voice. “They tried. Well, Bobby did. You’d already changed your number. He didn’t have time to track it down, too busy taking care of me. I finally found it while I was doing nothing on bed rest for weeks.” 

Fuck. 

“I told you I fucked everything up.” 

“Yeah, you did. But it’s your life, so if space is what you want, you can have it. I just… I need to know, what you want.” 

“Why did you lie to me? Why didn’t you just tell me who I was talking to?” 

There’s silence, and Sam thinks maybe Dean isn’t going to dignify his question with a response, but finally, he sighs. “When I texted you, I thought you knew. It was the same number I texted you with, when you first left for school, so I thought you would have saved it.” A hollow laugh, and in this instant  Sam can see just how much he has hurt his big brother. “Pretty dumb of me, I guess.” 

He wants to cry, or yell, or go back in time 9 months ago and punch himself in the face. Or kiss Dean silly, until he realizes how much he means to him. Can’t believe he doesn’t realize it to begin with, that Sam let it get so bad that Dean doubts it. 

Really he just wants to punch himself. 

“No, you’re not the dumb one. I am. I let this happen. I needed to get away from Dad, but I also needed to get away from you.” He takes a breath, prepares to continue, but Dean interrupts him. “I get it, I’m sorry. I’ll… I’m gonna let you go, I need to get some sleep. Long drive tomorrow and all.” 

Sam pauses in confusion, is getting ready to say goodnight and can hear Dean take the phone away from his ear when he realizes.  

“DEAN! No! Stop! God damn it! Don’t you dare hang up the fucking phone!”  

He is screaming, so loud that the neighbors can probably hear him, but the only thing that matters is that Dean, the singularly most important person—the only thing important—can hear him. Understands. 

“What?” He gets grumbled in response. 

“Don’t be stupid, man. What did I tell you the other day? I love you. I needed to get away because it was killing me, how much I loved you, when I knew that you would never think of me like that. “ 

“Oh,” is the meek response. 

“Yes, ‘oh’, you jerk. So tell me you love me back. That you aren’t going to go off fucking waitresses again, that you’ll stay and talk to me about this.” 

“Of course I love you, bitch.” And it’s so them that Sam laughs, a deep belly laugh that makes him feel hysterical, like he hasn’t laughed this hard in months and won’t ever stop. Dean laughs along with him, and when they finally stop, tears running down Sam’s face, Dean questions: “Why do you keep bringing up waitresses? What’s your fixation here?” 

“Come on, Dean. I know you. You’re always sleeping with someone along the way. Plus, she answered the phone. You didn’t answer your phone that night when I texted you, and when I called the next morning, I figured out why you were ignoring me.” 

“Sammy, seriously, don’t be stupid. I could barely think of anything but kissing you, do you really think I was gonna be able to fuck someone else right then? I didn’t answer your text because I was doin’ some background work for the hunt, and I guess Jo answered my phone when I was in the shower for me.” 

“So who is she then?” He knows he’s not doing a good job keeping his jealousy at bay.  

“They’re friends. She and her mom, they own this bar where hunters go. I went to get some info about the hunt Bobby sent me on. Seriously, calm down, it was all strictly platonic. The only pants I want to get in are yours.”  

Sam can tell Dean’s trying to temper his amusement and rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Just come home.”  

“Yes, sir. If you’ll let me go to sleep, I’ll be there tomorrow, how does that sound?” 

He sulks, then tries to hide it. “It would sound better if you said tonight.” 

“I’m not a miracle worker, Sammy, unfortunately even I can’t manage that. But I’ll be home before you know it. Now go get some sleep.” He pauses. “I love you. Sleep well.” 

The phone clicks shut even as he whispers back, “love you too.” 

Work drags the next day, and he nervously watches the clock, anxious for two o’clock to hit so he can head home. He doesn’t even bother stopping for food, despite missing lunch, so anxious is he to get home, to see Dean. To wrap himself around him and not let go.  

He regrets that the previous night’s confessions—and fun—had been held over the phone, but given the way Dean had freaked out and ran away when they had started it last week, maybe it was better. Either way, Sam isn’t going to let him freak out, this time. He has every intention of grabbing him, not giving him a moment to think, to breathe, let alone panic.  

It sounds like an amazing plan, and he’s half hard the entire car ride back just thinking of it.  

Unfortunately, Dean isn’t there when he gets home. When dinnertime rolls around and Dean still isn’t there, he gets anxious (even more anxious), gives him a call, gets voicemail, and starts biting his nails. 

Finally darkness falls and he hears the garage open, followed by the Impala pulling in, and he jumps from the couch. The door into the garage is thrown open, and Dean is illuminated in the doorway, and there is a thud as he drops his duffel at his feet and they just stare at each other. 

“Hi,” he finally speaks, not knowing where to look. Dean stares at him, hard, doesn’t say anything but must find what he is looking for because all of a sudden he’s stalking across the room, and one hand buries itself in Sam’s hair, tangles it in his strands like it belongs there, and then his mouth is devouring him, and he can’t breathe, and doesn’t want to, just wants this, the warm, cavernous wetness, the flickering, probing tongue, the teasing fingers, the burning of his lungs.  

It is that burning that forces him back, and he feels ready to fall over, feels lightheaded and confused.  

“Hey,” Dean’s voice is breathy, and Sam leans into him, tries to kiss him again, but his brother puts a hand to his chest. “Wait. We should. We should talk.” 

“What happened to your ‘no chick flick moment’ rules?” He steps into Dean again, leans over him teasingly, tauntingly.  

“Apparently you turn me into a chick,” his brother huffs disgustedly, and Sam laughs warmly and pulls Dean by his neck to his lips again, gently plays with him, soft nips and licks, strokes a hand down his side, purposefully grazes past the bulge in his pants and Dean moans, cants his hips into him. 

“I’ve wanted to do this for so, so long,” he murmurs desperately as he kisses at Dean’s chin, nips at his earlobe and pushes his tongue against the pulse at his throat. The taste is salty sweat and Dean, and he can’t get enough of it, pushes the collar of his shirt away so he can taste further, bites at a trap as his brother tries to move away from him. 

“Don’t you know how desperate I am? Do you really want me to have to wait another night? Haven’t I waited enough?” He grabs Dean’s hand in his own, forces it over his dick, wraps his brother’s hands around the hard lines and moans at the feeling. “See?” He groans, when he’s capable of words, because Dean is now grinding his palm into him, staring at him with pupils blown wide with lust. “I need my big brother to take care of me.” 

He knows that will win Dean over to his side. 

He’s right. Dean manhandles him across the house, pushing him toward the bedroom, only stopping to remove both of their clothing. All of a sudden the back of Sam’s knees hit the bed, and he’s divested of his boxers before he’s pushed down on the bed. The room is cold against his heated skin, but suddenly Dean is stretched out on top of him, thighs cradling his own. And oh.  

God. 

Their dicks rub together, and Sam’s pretty sure he could come from this delicious friction alone, with Dean’s mouth on his, but then Dean’s pulling back and Sam throws his head back to whine, its not even words just a low pitched complaint, and he can hear Dean’s husky laughter around his labored breathing.  

“Hold on, princess. I’m just grabbing the supplies.”  

He leans his body  up against his arms.  “Supplies?” 

A condom and bottle of lube are thrown towards him, the perfect answer to his obvious question, and then Dean is on the bed again with him, pushing his legs apart. 

“Sammy, you okay?” 

It takes him a few moments to get out the affirmative response. He’s just been waiting for this day to come for so long, dreamed it in a thousand different scenarios.  

Dean is looking at him in concern now, condom wrapper dropped to the wayside.  

“I’m fine,” he insists to appease the big brother worry—and wasn’t that a weird combination. “How are you so coherent?” 

Another warm chuckle. “You’ll just have to fix that then, I guess.” 

He pulls Dean back down for a searing kiss. 

 

They don’t cuddle after. Dean grabs a wash cloth to scrub them both down, then scours the fridge for leftovers, coming back in completely naked, mouth full and Chinese takeout in one hand and two forks in the other. They share the remains of the lo mein and talk. They talk about light stuff, about how Sam’s first year went, the friends he’s made, the classes he liked, how his grades are, and Dean gossips about the mechanics at the shop, interspersed with stories of Jo, Ellen, and Ash. They both avoid the angry words and arguments that have set the mood for their conversations for the last few months, content to leave it where it is.  

 

The summer passes quickly. Sam works part time, saves up money that Dean doesn’t really let him contribute to anything, Dean manages a few hunts that Sam helps him research, and they even make a trip up to see Bobby and meet Ellen and Jo. Sam warms up to Ellen instantly, but can’t get past the way Jo eyes up Dean, who tells him that he can’t get away with his jealous girlfriend routine in public. Around their family they act as they always have, and if at home they don’t make their blood relation known, well, its no one’s business but their own. There is a feeling of contentment that Sam’s certain neither of them has ever had, and he dreads the coming of August, because as much as he loves Stanford he’s terrified of losing what they have now. But it comes all the same, and he packs his bags amidst Dean’s assurances that he’s only a few hours away, he can come home (home—that thought gives him a warm, fuzzy feeling) anytime he wants. He’s not sure if the assurances are for Dean or himself but he appreciates them nonetheless. 

When he slams the door to the Jeep and grabs his rucksack from the back he feels his phone vibrate and smiles as he pulls it open. 

_[_ _DW 04:40 PM] Glad you made it safe._  

This time he knows better than to not respond.  


End file.
